ROG on Vacation
by dhrachth
Summary: HighlanderLOTR crossover, Methos accidentally goes to M.E. post RotK. NO ROMANCE! Minimal O.C. It's a mystery sort of thing, starring Methos, Aragorn, Gimli, & Legolas. Completed!
1. Part 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not pretending I do. No malicious, money grubbing intent. Purely for the sake of free entertainment.

Author's Notes:

I'm trying to stick to cannon for both Highlander and the Lord of the Rings Books. I'm sure I'll make mistakes anyway, because I haven't seen Highlander since it went off the air and although I've read LOTR recently there are so many details I'm bound to forget some. If it's a small, easily fixable, mistake email me. I'll change it, eventually. If it's something big, requiring major rewrites, just consider the story slightly AU.

I'm fond of all feedback except the pointlessly abusive. If you have constructive criticism that's fine with me, but name calling isn't nice. 

If you want email notification of updates, email me. I'd be happy to put your name on the list.

Finally, I hope you enjoy my little story.

****

CHAPTER 1

The ringing of a phone echoed through the nearly empty dojo. With a slightly irritated expression on his face, the dojo's single inhabitant interrupted the kata he was in the midst of to go back to his office and answer it. A telephone call just before midnight had to be from someone he knew and might just be important.

"Hello?"

"MacLeod, how are you this fine evening? I hope I'm not interrupting anything," said the voice over the phone.

"Methos," Duncan answered, "as a matter of fact you are interrupting. I was just in the middle of my work out. What do you want?"

"What makes you think I want something?"

"So you're not planning to ask for a favor?" Duncan said in a highly skeptical manner.

"Well now that you mention it, there is one tiny little thing you could do for me. There are going to be a few ancient manuscripts available at the Thackery estate auction and I was wondering if you could acquire them for me?" Methos asked.

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"How would it look if Adam Pierson, a man of modest means, suddenly had the money to pay for ancient texts, extremely expensive ancient texts? I can't draw attention to myself like that. Besides, I plan to be in the Swiss Alps when the auction takes place and they're not accepting electronic bidding," Methos replied.

"What's so important in Switzerland that it can't be postponed a couple weeks? Are you sure this isn't a ski trip conveniently planned to stick me with the bill? I know Adam Pierson has acted as 'an anonymous buyer's agent' more than once." Duncan still had his reservations, but Methos could tell he was starting to break.

"Mac, I promise I'll pay you back. As to why Switzerland... there's an odd formation of rock covered in carvings which are older than I am and I want to investigate. There are old references to the place as 'World Gates' and tales of strange disappearances which I've always dismissed as fairy tales, but in light of my new appreciation for the supernatural I thought I'd take a look," Methos answered.

"I'm sure it will be fascinating, but why now? If they've been there for all these millennia, I doubt another week or two will matter," Duncan said, still a little leery of doing Methos any favors.

"Well there's a young head hunter that's been following me, looking for an easy kill. I'd like to avoid him if I can."

"Ah," Duncan said the light dawning a little, "Why didn't you say so before? Of course I'll go to the auction for you. There were a few items in the catalogue I'm interested in myself. Do you need any help with your new 'friend'?" Any threat to a friend immediately changing the over protective Highlander's attitude.

"No, I'll be fine. I do have several millennia of experience. I can take care of myself." Methos said, the eye-rolling nearly audible in his voice. "I seriously doubt this headhunter is any match for me with a sword. I'd be surprised if he reaches the second century mark. But, there's no sense taking chances. Even the most skilled swordsman can have a bad day, trip over a rock or something, and lose a fight he should have won. Just buy the manuscripts for me. I'll be fine."

"Okay, I believe you. You can take care of yourself. But, be careful."

"When have I ever not been careful?" the elder immortal said with a laugh. "Just get the texts. I pick them up in a month or two."

"I'm going to Paris in a couple weeks."

"I'll see you there then," Methos said.

"Goodbye, Methos."

The two immortals hung up their phones. Duncan returned to his workout. Methos finished up his packing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos, aka Adam Pierson, drove his jeep up a road winding around the mountain on a warm, sunny, summer day. The road wouldn't take him directly to his destination, but he could get within a pleasant afternoon's hike of the spot. As he drove he fiddled with his car radio searching for a weather report. Unfortunately, the only station he could receive clearly was one playing pop music. "Am I the only one who thinks `Hit me baby one more time' smacks of domestic violence? If taste isn't dead, it must be in a coma," the ancient immortal muttered to himself as he gave up on his search and switched the radio off.

Arriving at his destination, or as near to it as the jeep could go, Methos parked beside the road, grabbed a knapsack containing his note taking supplies and lunch, and set off. He enjoyed a pleasant little hike and arrived at the stones precisely as planned.

The stones were an odd sort of outcropping. They looked a bit like Stonehenge in that they were laid out in a circular pattern with a central stone. They were unlike Stonehenge in that the stones were all short, perfectly round half circles, and seemingly part of the ground rather than merely placed upon it. Saving the carvings on the stones, they looked as if they'd be perfectly smooth like pebbles from a river. All in all, a not very striking arrangement. If a person didn't know what to look for they might even overlook the stones at first glance. Stones the same color as the surrounding land and not above two feet in height aren't particularly eye catching.

Methos started his examination with the middle stone. The carvings were in lines which joined at the middle and spiraled down to the bottom of the stone, sort of like a peppermint candy. Each of the lines was composed of tiny little figure which appeared to be some sort of writing, many of which had worn away and become illegible over time. Methos began by making a rubbing of the design. Then he took photographs from every angle. Lastly he took careful measurements of every angle and meticulously noted everything down in his notebook. After the middle stone he started on the surrounding stones which had similar but less complex markings and methodically worked his way around the circle.

When he was halfway finished he took a break for lunch. The sandwiches made by the staff at the inn were quite good, but the only beverage available was water and the meal suffered greatly for lack of beer, at least in Methos's opinion. As he polished off the last of his lunch Methos began to consider leaving the rest of the work for another day. He had planned to do it all at once, but it was boring work and he wasn't in any particular hurry. Besides, he had already collected plenty of material in a language he didn't recognize to keep him busy for months if not years translating. So the decision was made, pack up and come back another day.

Just as Methos was folding up his rubbings and putting away his notes, he sensed the presence of another immortal. 'Damn! How'd that irritating pup find me up here? I suppose it would be too much to hope that it is some other friendly immortal,' Methos thought while drawing his sword and preparing for battle.

Methos was right, it was too much to hope. The younger immortal came out of the trees weapon in hand. He was shortish, stoutish, and baldish although he only looked to be in his late twenties. "I'm Nathaniel Grey and there's no use trying to run from me Pierson. Wherever you go I'll find you," he boldly declared.

"But, why would you want to? Why have you been hunting me? As far as I know I've never done anything against you. I don't even know who you are. Are you positive you want to fight me? You can still leave without bloodshed," Methos answered in a pleading and slightly confused tone.

"I will certainly leave without any of MY blood being shed, after I take your head. Now prepare to die!" Nathaniel shouted as he took the offensive.

Methos easily countered the clumsy blow and muttered, "Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you." 

The two immortals exchanged blows for awhile. Nathaniel swung about in a frenzy quickly tiring himself out. Methos managed to sidestep most of the blows and parried the rest without so much as breaking a sweat.

'He can't actually be this bad can he? Most first year students know better than this. If this isn't an act to catch me off guard, I'm almost embarrassed for him,' Methos thought. Just then a wild swing very nearly caught Methos's arm. 'Almost but not quite,' Methos corrected his earlier thought. 'Time to end it.'

Then Methos took up the battle in earnest. He maneuvered Nathaniel backwards towards the center stone step by step. 'One more step, just one more,' Methos thought. Nathaniel backed up that last step and fell over the stone. 

Standing over the stone with his sword to Nathaniel's neck Methos asked, "Now do you want to tell me what this is all about? Or should I just kill you?"

"Try to kill me, I dare you! A pansy scholar like you isn't man enough to kill me," Nathaniel proclaimed.

"Pansy scholar is it?" Methos said, arching one eyebrow. "You're one to talk seeing as you're currently lying here with my sword to your throat."

"You just got lucky. Next time it'll be you on the ground and then I'll kill you," Nathaniel replied.

"You really are too stupid to live." Then with a sigh, Methos took Nathaniel's head. 'Well, that was pointless. If only the idiot knew when to give up,' Methos thought with a little melancholy as he watched the quickening gather, rising in a mist from the corpse. Then Methos noticed something different about the quickening. It, unlike every other quickening he had ever experienced in his long life, didn't go directly toward him. Instead the energy was being absorbed by the stones. There is always damage to the surrounding area, with more damage the stronger the quickening, but nothing like this. The carvings were glowing and appeared to be moving around the stones. Then the center stone started to pulse and expand. Seconds had passed and still Methos was untouched by the quickening although he was keenly observing what was happening around him. Then the center stone exploded and for awhile the oldest man observed no more.

* * * * * * * * * *

Legolas and Gimli son of Gloin were riding together to Minas Tirith, Gondor's capital. There they planned to assist in the restoration of the city. Gimli was organizing dwarven help with stone work and Legolas was seeing to the gardens. Although the city only sustained major damage in the outer sections during the war, there was still much to be done throughout. The kingdom of Gondor had suffered much decline in the long years without a king and there was much that needed putting right. Seeing as King Elessar, also known as Aragorn or Strider, was a close personal friend of Legolas and Gimli the two were happy to help.

The two friends rode at a leisurely pace, enjoying the countryside, fine weather, and friendly banter with each other. Then there was a bright flash off in the distance. "Friend-Legolas," Gimli said, "Can you see what has happened to cause such a strange light?"

Legolas looked toward the spot as the light flickered a few more times, "No. It is still too distant for even elven sight. Perhaps we should move closer."

"It does seem to be the sort of occurrence Aragorn would be interested in knowing of," Gimli agreed.

"Hold tightly to me. There is not a smooth road ahead," Legolas warned as he urged their horse to a run.

Moments later they reached the source of the light and a strange sight it was indeed. There were lights, much like lightning, flying up from the ground and into a mass of light too bright to look upon which hovered a few feet above the ground and the whole mass was spinning. 

"What is it?" Gimli asked shielding his eyes from the light.

"I've never seen anything like it," Legolas replied, "but I sense no evil involved."

"So whatever it is, it's good?" Gimli said with some skepticism.

"I did not say that. Though we can hope that is the case," Legolas said with equal skepticism. The former Fellowship of the Ring members, although gladdened and made optimistic of the future by their victory over the great Enemy, were not naive innocents always believing the best of their fellow man, or dwarf, or hobbit, or whatever the case may be.

As Gimli and Legolas were speculating on the nature of the event, the lights dimmed, the spinning slowed, and eventually the lightning stopped, leaving behind an unconscious man lying upon the ground. The two approached the unconscious figure cautiously. To their surprise they found him to be a mortal man and a seemingly ordinary one at that despite his strange clothing. He appeared to be of about middle height, or at least he would be if he were standing, thinnish, fair skin and dark hair, with a prominent nose and otherwise unremarkable features. Clothed in more typical clothing with longer hair, as was the fashion, he could blend into almost any human city.

"Is he dangerous?" Legolas wondered aloud.

"Well he does have that sword," Gimli pointed out. "It doesn't look to be anything special, but solid workmanship it appears. And look," pointing to the blood on the sword's edge, "I'd say he's used it lately."

"Even more reason to take care. But, we know not if he had good cause for violence. Perhaps he bloodied his sword defending against evil." Legolas said.

"You did say, you didn't think the light was evil. I suppose we should give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, what true threat could a single human be to an elf and a dwarf so experienced at orc killing? Between the two of us there is no need to fear, even if he is evil."

"Well said, friend-Gimli," Legolas said with a smile. Just then the man began to stir. He started to rise then stopped and clutched his head with a groan. "He does not seem capable of any threatening action at the moment at least. Let us see if we can render assistance."

"Sir, are you hurt?" Legolas asked the man, but his only answer was a slightly confused look. 

"I don't suppose floating above the ground in a ball of light is good for a man's wits," Gimli interjected, "Only witnessing it hasn't been good for mine."

Legolas tried again this time more slowly, "Sir, are you injured? I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and this is Gimli son of Gloin. Is there some aid we can give you?"

The man looked back and forth between Gimli and Legolas for a few second and said haltingly, "I am Adam Pierson and I would like it if you could tell me where I am and why we are speaking ancient Pictish."

"This is Gondor and we are about an hour's ride west of Minas Tirith. I've never heard of this pic-something you mentioned. Have you Legolas?" Gimli asked.

"Pictish is an unfamiliar term to me also. What I would truly like to know is where you are from Adam son of Pier and what has just happened here?" Legolas added.

Adam 'son of Pier' slowly got to his feet and looked about. From a pocket he drew out a cloth and wiped the blood from his blade. Putting the sword away, inside a garment shaped like a robe but seemingly worn as a cloak, Adam spoke in a language unlike any Gimli or Legolas had ever heard before. They did not know what he said, but they could discern the tone of disbelief and amazement. "I just now came from Switzerland. As to what happened and how I got here, where ever this is... That is what I'd like to know," Adam answered Legolas. This time his speech was less halting and uncertain, but he still spoke with a thick and very peculiar accent. 

"Are you claiming to have no idea of how you suddenly appeared here?" Gimli said incredulously.

"No, I said I didn't know what happened. I happen to have plenty of ideas, but none of them quite qualify as knowledge," Adam replied in a slightly condescending manner.

Seeing that Gimli was becoming somewhat irritated with Adam, Legolas thought he should do something to head off the hostilities before they resulted in violence. Before Gimli could answer Adam's observation Legolas interjected, "Perhaps you should share your speculations with us, for we haven't so much as an idea of what happened."

Adam stared at the elf for a moment and said, "It must have been those bloody stones."

"Stones?" Legolas said.

"There was a ring of ancient carved stones high in the Swiss Alps. There were all sorts of myths and rumors about the stones having magical powers 'World Gates' some said. I was attempting to translate the carvings when this happened."

"To what purpose?" Legolas said.

And at nearly the same time, "With a bloody sword?" Gimli said.

"A bandit attack interrupted my studies. I used my sword only to defend myself. And the reason for making the translation is simple curiosity. I'm a scholar. Uncovering secrets of the past is what I do," Adam answered sounding a bit put upon.

"Did any of this bandit's blood land upon the stones?" Legolas asked.

"Well yes, as a matter of fact it did. Right on the center stone... Ah yes I see what you're getting at. Blood as a key," Adam said. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

"You were studying a magical structure without knowing the power contained in life's blood?" Legolas replied incredulously. "That is one of the most primitive and uncontrollable of all magics. Even the wild men know of such things."

"Well there are stories, but where I come from very few even believe magic exists," Adam said a bit sheepishly. "Until recently, I thought magic to be a product of overactive imaginations myself."

"No magic," Legolas said to himself. 'I should hate to live in a land without magic.' he thought, truly appalled at the concept. Legolas could see where that might come in handy, without magic there could be no evil magic. Sauron and the Ring would not have been a threat. But, without magic there would be no elves, at least not as he knew them.

"I hate to interrupt your philosophical discussion, but what is the point of all this talk of magic?" Gimli asked, impatient and uninterested in mystical discussion.

"The point is that apparently what happened here is simply a foolish mistake. If what he says is true he managed to accidentally move between worlds," Legolas answered.

"So what do we do with him now?" Gimli asked Legolas. Adam was observing this interchange between the two friends and clearly wanted to make some comment.

Legolas, ignoring Adam, said, "I suppose we should take him to Aragorn. It is his country after all and he will most likely be very curious about Adam's origins."

"Right. We'll take him to Aragorn," Gimli agreed.

"If you two are through discussing me as if I weren't present, I'd like to inquire as to whether or not I get any say in this. I am the person whose fate is under discussion after all," Adam said dryly.

"Not," Gimli answered simply, hand on ax as if daring Adam to disagree.

"That's what I thought," Adam said, "Lead on. The sooner we start walking; the sooner we'll reach our destination."

The three returned to the road and started walking toward Minas Tirith, leading the horse.

****

CHAPTER 2

When Methos awoke to find himself in a place that was, one, certainly not Switzerland and, two, not any place he had ever seen before, he was understandably shocked and more than a little nonplused. The fact that his head was throbbing and he found himself looking up at a hairy midget and a pretty boy both dressed like Ren-faire rejects didn't help matters either. It's safe to say he would have panicked, if it weren't for the 5,000 years or so of experience acting as a hedge against such behavior. Needless to say, Methos was off his game.

His first impulse upon waking was to make acidic comments and be generally obnoxious. The one thing Methos hated above all else was to be in a situation he didn't understand and had no hope of controlling. And childish as the habit is, there is a certain comfort in taking one's own bad mood out on others. 

But, after taking a second look at his new acquaintances, Methos decided a more cooperative approach would be safer. Despite the oddity of their appearance, they were clearly dangerous. Methos answered their questions and agreed to go along with them to see their friend. The time for asking questions about the million and one things he wanted to know about the other world, for other world it seemed to be, had not arrived.

The three 'men' set off toward Minas Tirith. Methos was avidly taking in the scenery. 'Those trees over there look similar to elms, but the color isn't right,' Methos thought. And more startling were the mountains he could see in the distance both ahead and behind him. 'I don't believe there are mountains anywhere on earth which would fit that particular formation!' Methos exclaimed to himself. 'This really is another world. I had my doubts when I first arrived, but this couldn't be faked.' 

Then examining his companions a little more thoroughly, Methos began to note subtle differences, like pointed ears, which made him think that perhaps these two were not human. "Ah.. Please excuse me if this is a rude question, but you two aren't human, are you?" Methos asked hesitantly.

"I'm a Dwarf!" Gimli said with pride, "What kind of fool doesn't know the difference between a dwarf and a man?"

"There aren't any dwarves where I'm from. I didn't mean to offend," Methos replied. Then he looked towards Legolas questioningly.

"An elf," Legolas said, "I suppose there are no elves in your world either."

"No," Methos said.

Then the group fell silent. 'Talkative bunch.' Methos thought with sarcasm. 'Hopefully, when we get where ever it is we are going I can get a few more answers.' Although the unplanned trip was a bit disconcerting at first, the idea of a new world to explore was growing on him. If the world's, make that earth's, oldest man had a weakness it was curiosity. Here was a place he knew next to nothing about with people who were only myth on earth. 

Even more intriguing was figuring out the connection between his world and this one. Why is it that they speak a language nearly the same as one which died out millennia before at home? How did the stones work? And perhaps more importantly, how would he get back assuming it was even possible? Methos didn't have any pressing engagements to get back to, although he didn't like worrying his friends. And, this world seemed safe enough at present. Methos wasn't itching to leave immediately, but there was too much he still didn't know. He might need to escape some danger in the future and hopping to a new world would be a good way to do that.

Methos was cautiously optimistic about his little adventure. The natives, although understandably suspicious of him, didn't seem hostile. 'Not too hostile,' Methos mentally corrected as Gimli leveled an antagonistic look at him. 'I seem to have rubbed the short one the wrong way. I'll have to make amends later, after I know more about the way of things. Making enemies is not a good start.'

Methos resigned himself to his new situation and decided to make the best of it as the trio continued to plod towards Minas Tirith.

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos/Adam Pierson, Legolas the Elf, and Gimli the Dwarf walked for the rest of the afternoon, mostly in silence. As the sun was setting they approached Minas Tirith, capital city of Gondor. Any lingering doubts Methos had as to the reality of his situation were immediately cleared up upon entering the city.

It was like nothing he had ever seen. Breathtaking stonework with the elegance of ancient Greek marbles but designed with decidedly Anglo-Saxon sensibilities just did not exist in any time or place Methos had experienced. Signs of decay did not escape him though. 'Perhaps I am arriving at the end of a great empire,' Methos speculated remembering the fall of Rome. 'If it is the end they seem to be putting up a good fight,' he added, noting construction in progress.

Then they passed a section of burned buildings which hadn't yet been torn down. 'Fire damage. An accident... considering the amount of stone scorched, not likely. Fighting then,' Methos accurately diagnosed. The immortal had seen and set enough fires in his checkered past to recognize the signs of violence. 'It must have happened recently but not too recently,' he also noted, considering that prime, near a cistern, real estate doesn't stay vacant very long and balancing that with the fact that he wasn't treated with excessive suspicion, people at war aren't usually friendly to strangers. 

'I'll have to keep their recent turmoil in mind when dealing with the powers that be. War puts people on guard. Non-threatening is probably the way to go. On the bright side, it looks like they won. Post war euphoria will probably work in my favor. Happy people don't look for entertainment in a rousing game of burn the stranger at the stake,' Methos thought, assessing his situation and deciding on a strategy. 

They proceeded through the city, Legolas and Gimli exchanging greetings periodically with those whom they knew and they were shown respect by all. The passage through the city made it quite clear to Methos that in addition to being people of importance as friends of the king the two were also quite popular with the people. He found that thought reassuring because, although there are a few prominent exceptions, the complete bastards aren't very popular with the people. The slightly shady or corrupt might manage to be loved, but rarely did the truly evil deceive people so completely.

When they reached the citadel Methos was ushered into a small side room which was clearly designed as a waiting area with benches lining the walls. There he waited for what seemed like hours, but was probably only forty-five minutes or so. Waiting to meet with a man who may have the power to decide your fate for the foreseeable future when you know very little about the situation and most of that is speculation is nervous work even when you are immortal.

Eventually a man who appeared to be some sort of guard, judging from the livery and weaponry, summoned Methos to see King Elessar. 'I thought the king was Aragorn. Some odd naming custom perhaps,' Methos pondered to keep from over thinking the coming interview.

Methos followed the guard down several corridors and was led into a chamber. Inside were Legolas, Gimli, and a third man, with the unmistakable aura of royalty, who was reading something. The three were seated around a table and appeared to have been in conference. 'About what to do with me no doubt,' Methos thought. 

The third man signed the parchment then looked Methos over with a penetrating stare. The king appeared to be no older than middle years, and could have been younger. Age was hard to determine because of his weather roughened countenance. 'So this king isn't the type to pamper himself and lead from the back. Those were usually the better sort of kings,' Methos thought.

The man handed the guard the parchment, never stopping his examination of Methos, and said, "Deliver this to my chamberlain."

"Yes, Your Majesty" the guard answered before leaving on his errand. 

Legolas then said, "Aragorn, I present to you Adam son of Pier who comes to us from a different world."

"Your Majesty," Methos replied executing his best courtly bow.

"I see you are no stranger to courtly manners," the King observed dryly.

"I have spent some time at court Your Majesty. I've found that kings tend to have the best libraries," Methos replied carefully with the intent to imply that he is a person of importance in his homeland who associates with kings and to also imply that he has little interest in politics, only books.

The King paused for a moment assessing Methos's answer. He was most definitely shrewd enough to pick up the implications. The question was whether or not to believe them. "I'm going to speak plainly," the King said after a moment's reflection, "This land has recently been freed from great peril of long standing. What I want to know of you is this: Will you to seek to disrupt our new found peace, attempting to make yourself powerful at the expense of my people? Or can I trust you to act in an honorable fashion, not injurious to my kingdom?"

'I believe I could take a liking to this man. I get the feeling that he is like MacLeod in that do anything for the sake of 'good' so honorable it makes your teeth hurt kind of way, but with more sophistication than the Highlander,' Methos thought. Then he said, "I give you my word that I have no intention of doing anything to harm your kingdom. My only intent is to learn what I may, especially anything pertaining to a way to return home. You have nothing to worry about on my account." 

The King nodded, accepting Methos's declaration, and said, "Then I welcome you to Gondor as my guest. I wish you luck finding what you seek. There are many ancient records in Minas Tirith, perhaps one contains the key to moving between worlds."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Methos replied.

"You are welcome. Perhaps you could tell us something of your world, later, to satisfy our curiosity," the King said as a dismissal.

"Of course, Your Majesty, I'd be honored," Methos replied with another bow and exited the room. Legolas followed him out and said something to a guard waiting in the hall; then the elf returned to the king.

"This way, sir," the guard said, then set off down the corridor.

'Well that went rather well,' Methos thought. 'The King seems a decent sort. I'll be happier when I know a bit more about the lay of the land, but so far things seem to be turning out remarkably well. Considering that any traveler from another world would be thrown in the loony bin at home, being a royal guest with run of the library isn't bad at all even if I'm only a 'guest' so that they can keep an eye on me.'

They stopped at a door at the end the hall and the guard said, "These are your quarters, sir. A page will be by to take you to dinner in an hour or so." Then the man left with a nod.

Methos went in. The room was airy, spacious, and well appointed. There was also a steaming bath waiting and a change of clothes on the bed. "Nice," Methos said fingering the material. He quickly disrobed and got into the tub, sword placed within easy reach. 'Not bad, not bad at all. I think I could grow to like it here,' Methos thought as he sank further into the warm water.

* * * * * * * * * *

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were still in Aragorn's study discussing Middle-earth's new addition.

"He seems harmless enough, but I'm not sure if he is entirely what he seems," Aragorn said.

"I agree," Legolas replied, "I sense that he is hiding something. I have no idea what that something is though. What he did tell us appears to be true. His arrival honestly appears to be an accident and I believed him when he stated his intentions but..."

"There is something he is not saying," Aragorn finished for the elf. "You have been quiet on the subject," Aragorn continued, turning toward Gimli, "What say you?"

"I don't trust him," the dwarf said, "He is too smooth. Too polished. And did you notice his hands? I'd be surprised if he has ever done an honest day's work."

"You are not one for passing the hours sifting through dusty tomes, Gimli," Legolas said with affection. "That description does support his claims of being a scholar, however."

"Hmm... Whatever Adam is hiding, he isn't a danger at the moment. We shall just have to wait and see. Perhaps, once we know more of where he is from and how he got here his secret will be revealed as something harmless. Although I have my doubts about him, I will not throw a man, who may only be guilty of being the victim of an unfortunate accident, in the dungeon. Nor can I allow someone we know so little about to wander free about the countryside. We will keep a close eye upon him, until he has proven himself one way or the other," Aragorn said, temporarily closing the matter.

Legolas and Gimli consented to the plan. Since it was nearly dinner time the three went off to change. 

Aragorn, having to search for one of the dress boots he'd kicked under the bed the night before, came down to the hall late. 'It is times like this where I'm tempted to rethink my decision to not have a valet,' Aragorn thought as he entered the hall. His eyes immediately went to Arwen who was talking to their new guest. Arwen seemed to have taken an immediate liking to Adam; they were deep in conversation and she seemed to find whatever he was saying to be quite amusing. Aragorn found this reassuring. Arwen was an excellent judge of character; if she liked Adam he couldn't be too bad a person.

Aragorn started across the room to find out what his wife and the stranger found so interesting to talk about, but was stopped before he could take two steps by a lord with "urgent business" to discuss. Then there was another person and another one with something to put before the king. Aragorn became too wrapped up in state business to so much as give Adam another thought.

Aragorn finally sat down in his place next to Arwen at the center of the head table in a `u' shaped arrangement where all the most important personages were seated. There were lower tables set in rows in the middle of the `u' for the minor nobles.

Noticing Aragorn's slightly harassed expression. "Korvan corner you again?" Arwen asked placing a sympathetic hand on his sleeve.

Aragorn nodded and said, "And Tirmen, and Barklin. When will they get it through their thick skulls that I am not going to give them exclusive trading rights with Rohan?"

"Foolish men ask foolish things," Arwen replied. 

"I noticed you talking to our new guest. You seemed to be having a pleasant conversation," Aragorn changed the subject. 

"Yes, Adam is quite charming. The men of Gondor could learn a thing or two from him," Arwen teased. 

"And I had thought you were growing fond of my poor kingdom," Aragorn replied in a mock injured tone.

"I do love Gondor, but a little polish wouldn't come amiss," Arwen replied glancing over at a minor noble busily picking his teeth with a knife.

"Point taken," Aragorn said with a smile. Then the royal couple turned their attention to performing their hostly duties and engaged in polite dinner conversation with the rest of the table.

The meal went on as normal. Aragorn glanced at Adam from time to time and noted his success with his table mates. The traveler was adjusting quite well to his surroundings, engaging in light banter with a few minor noblemen and flattering a couple of elderly ladies outrageously. He completely ignored Lady Dia, a pretty girl who shamelessly flirted with all the young men, however. 'Very strange,' Aragorn thought, 'Why would he make it a point to ignore the girl?'

Eventually, the meal came to an end and the stories and songs began. Adam appeared to take a keen interest in them and would occasionally ask a question of the elderly ladies who had attached themselves to him. Every once in a while he would nod to himself as if noting information for future reference. 

After Legolas finished singing he turned to Adam and said, "Perhaps you would be good enough to tell us a story of your land."

Adam stood and said without hesitation, "I would be happy to offer a tale for your entertainment. In exchange for your kind hospitality it is the least I can do and I know just the story. I will tell you the tale of King Arthur, the once and future king, who is one of my world's greatest heroes. It all began with a sword..."

The story that followed kept the company in the hall captivated. The story of betrayal and failure was both unlike anything they had ever heard before and yet there were striking similarities. The powerful wizard, a brotherhood of knights sworn to a cause, a special sword bound up in prophesy, all these things were very familiar. 

'So his world is not so different from our own,' Aragorn observed to himself at the end of the recitation.

When Adam was finished no one wanted to follow his performance and the party broke up. "I still don't trust him, but I must admit the man can tell a tale," Gimli observed to Legolas.

"Yes, that he can. I'm interested to see what other stories he has to tell," Legolas said happily, for elves are ever fond of a good tale.

With that, they all retired for the night. 

****

CHAPTER 3

The next morning Methos decided to inspect the library the king had mentioned. 'I don't know if there will be anything pertaining to my situation there, but it can't hurt to look,' Methos thought as he dressed in another set of clothes provided for him. 'Even if there's nothing about traveling to other worlds, there's no telling what interesting things might be found there. Perhaps there'll be some records concerning elves.' 

Methos, after learning of the immortality of the elves was intensely curious about the subject. He wanted to know exactly what was meant by 'immortal' as the word applied to them. Did they truly live forever? Or were they just extremely long lived? Judging from the stories they could be killed, but how exactly? Did it have to be done in some special way? Or were they as vulnerable to violence as men? If they truly were immortal, how could they have children? It just didn't make sense biologically. If no one grows old and dies there isn't any need for children to replace them. Or were children few enough in number and casualty rates high enough for the two to equal out? And if they do live forever how is Legolas a prince? Do they have a prince just on the off chance the king is killed? Does the king eventually just decide to retire? Or is prince just an honorary title describing his relationship to the king and he is never meant to be king? All this he wanted to know and more, but he didn't know enough yet to ask. Methos had enough experience entering foreign cultures to realize that what seems to one group a simple question may seem to another terribly intrusive and rude. Asking people would have to wait, but books were fair game.

Once Methos had dressed and adjusted his sword belt to his liking, he set off to find someone who could direct him to the library. 'I'd prefer a comfortable pair of jeans to this lot,' Methos observed to himself about his medieval-esque garb, 'but there is something to be said for being able to wear a sword openly. Hiding it under a coat is not an ideal arrangement. Sweltering in summer and freezing in winter because buttons take too long to undo is not my idea of fun.' 

At the end of the hall he found a page who was happy to provide him with directions to the place they kept the books and records. It seems it wasn't so much a library as a place where they dumped all the miscellaneous bits of writing and left them there to gather dust. The people of Gondor had been too busy fighting the forces of evil to spend much time with books and papers, or at least that is what the chatty page said. Methos dismissed the mention of evil as simply a child's interpretation of things, but he could accept that a nation at war doesn't flourish academically. The page also mentioned that there was a crippled old man called Tarn who looked after the place and that the great wizard Gandalf had spent "forever" looking at things before the war. Methos thanked the page and went on his way.

When he arrived at his destination, Methos could easily understand what took Gandalf so long. There were scrolls and books stacked everywhere, on shelves, on tables, under tables, all in various states of decay and there didn't appear to be any sort of order to it. It looked like things were randomly placed wherever a space could be found. 'Even if there is something useful here, it will be years before I find it,' the Immortal whined to himself. 'The sooner I start the sooner I'll finish,' Methos added, resigning himself to the task. 'I just hope some of this stuff is interesting, if I'm going to be sifting through it.'

"Hello? Anybody here?" Methos called, looking for Tarn. 

A few seconds later an old man leaning heavily on a cane limped in. He was short, hunched over, shriveled like a prune, mostly bald with a few strands of white hair left, had a squint, probably from too much reading, and his clothing was spotted, wrinkled, and worn, but looked to be of good quality. "Who are you? And what do you want? I have a lot of work to do and don't need anyone coming 'round and making a nuisance of themselves," the old man said querulously.

"Master Tarn I presume, allow me to introduce myself. I am Adam Pierson and I was wondering if there was any information concerning inter-dimensional travel in this... collection," Methos said in his best grad student dealing with a difficult professor voice.

"Aye, I'm Tarn. So you are the man that came from some other world. I've been hearing a lot about you. Not much to look at are you? As for this 'inter-dimensional travel' I can't say as I've ever seen anything on it, but there's plenty more I haven't read."

"That's too bad, but about what I expected," said Methos. "The particular reference one needs is never easily available. The only way to ever find the answer to a question seems to be through months if not years of study. The search is usually what makes it interesting, but there are times I wish the process were a bit faster and easier."

Hearing the sentiments of a scholar, rather than the impatient demands of the noble half-wits who would come to pester Tarn from time to time, the old man became a little more disposed to helping Methos with his inquiry. "I don't know of any particular records of what you are looking for, but if you told me more I could maybe narrow the search down some."

"I do have something with me which might, with luck, significantly narrow the search," Methos said drawing out the rubbing of the center stone which he had in his coat pocket when the 'incident' happened. "This is a copy of the markings on one of the stones which sent me here. Although the runes look a bit like ones from my world, they aren't the same. I was wondering if you recognize the language?"

"I'd be happy to take a look. Spread that out over here," Tarn said clearing a spot on one of the tables. "Hmm... they do look a bit like Elven runes. Wait just a second, let me fetch something," Tarn said scurrying off between the stacks.

"Here it is." Tarn returned a few minutes later with a scroll. "These are the runes. They are not quite the same, although I can see a resemblance," he said comparing the scroll with Methos's rubbing. "These two here could almost be the same if you just changed that bit there," he added, pointing to two specific characters.

"And if you changed the other side of it, it would be a Germanic rune. Could they be a combination of the two? Half Elven and half German?" Methos wondered aloud.

"It could be at that. It would make sense for a thing that was a sort of.. bridge between the two worlds, using a language that was partly of each," Tarn agreed.

"So if I were to learn the Elven runes, I should be able to translate."

"I should think so, but I'm afraid I can't help you there lad. Not many elves still use the runes. I can recognize them when I see them and pick out a bit here and there, but I can't claim to be able to read them."

"Who can read them and might be willing to help?" Methos asked.

Tarn thought for a bit and replied, "There's one in that lot Prince Legolas brought to Ithilien, Sandir. He came by here once to look the collection over. Bookish sort, might lend a hand out of curiosity. I'll write to him for you, but don't expect him to reply right away. Elves don't look at time like normal folk. A year or two might go by before you hear back from him."

"That would be much appreciated. If he does take a few years getting back to you, it still looks like I have plenty to keep me busy," Methos said looking about the room. "For one, I don't see any writing in an alphabet I recognize. Although the spoken language is close enough to one I know, I suspect I still need to learn to read it."

"And you should see to learning Elvish as well. That alone could take years."

"I had better get started then. Would you happen to have some simple grammar books I could use to start with?"

"I think there are some texts that belonged to the old steward's sons when they were boys around here somewhere." Tarn rummaged through a pile of books on a corner table until he located a small dusty blue book. "Here you are," he said handing it to Methos then pointing to the other side of the room, "A desk with writing things is on the other side of those shelves. Now I have work I need to get back to."

Methos thanked Tarn for all his help and adjourned to the desk. He passed the morning deep in study and had managed to make some headway by lunch time. Although the characters were different from what he was used to, they weren't too difficult to figure out phonetically since he already understood the spoken language. He figured he should be reading well enough to do a little research in just a few months although writing in a comprehensible manner would likely take a bit longer. On the academic front, things were proceeding quite nicely.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Months passed and Methos quickly settled in. After the first month or so the routine was set and he was no longer anything new. Blending in was a particular talent of his and he did it very well in Minas Tirith. Mornings were spent in study, he had quickly picked up the common tongue and now was starting in on the mass of records. Afternoons were usually passed at, The Red Hat, a friendly tavern at which the proprietor was willing to give Methos's wealth of beer making pointers a try. And evenings were usually reserved for court dinners where Methos entertained the company with earth tales; Shakespeare was a big hit, at least in the cliff notes version. 

He was fairly happy with his situation all in all. He had a plentiful supply of good beer. His studies were progressing. Most people liked him, but dismissed him as unimportant and harmless which was exactly the response he was looking for. The chance to show off in the evenings was kind of nice as well. Methos had always had an exhibitionist streak, but usually avoided bragging out of prudence. 

And the best part, there didn't seem to be any other Immortals. Elves were immortal, but there weren't any of his sort of, decapitate your opponent, immortals. He realized there might be some, elsewhere, but he didn't think so. His type of immortal just didn't seem to fit anywhere into the histories of the various intelligent races. The belief that Immortals didn't exist in Middle-earth wasn't something he could prove, but the assumption just seemed right. He took a wait and see approach just to be on the safe side, but did relax his guard a little.

* * * * * * * * * 

About three months after Adam's arrival, Legolas was talking to Gimli late one night over a glass of wine.

"But, was Hamlet mad or only pretending to be?" Legolas asked the dwarf.

"It hardly matters whether he was in his right mind or not. They all died in the end in any case," Gimli replied.

"They all die at the end of most of Adam's stories. Hamlet's state of mind would assist in explaining the why in this one."

"Most of the tales do end in death, now that you mention it. A grim sort of place he must come from if all they speak of is betrayal and murder," Gimli observed somewhat sympathetically.

"I thought you did not like him, that he was rude and useless?" Legolas inquired.

"He's not so bad as all that. The other day he told me of some methods used in his land by Romans, a people famous for their architecture, for building aqueducts. Using the Roman methods the work should be done in another six months."

"Human craftsmanship which is better than that of dwarves. My ears must be deceiving me or else the world is coming to an end and the sun shall not rise tomorrow," Legolas teased his friend.

"I didn't say better. I said faster. The end results will not be up to dwarven standards of elegance and beauty, although they will be serviceable enough. I am only willing to use such inferior construction methods because the city is in such desperate need of new water works and because the whole of it will be buried out of view," Gimli corrected not finding the elf at all funny.

"I stand corrected. Perhaps you could show me these inferior works and point out the deficiencies," Legolas offered in apology knowing that, after exploring caves, showing off his latest project was one of Gimli's favorite things to do. Taking great interest in anything man-made--or dwarf-made as the case may be--was a dwarvish character trait.

"I'd be happy to give you the tour," Gimli replied, "It is a very interesting process despite being inferior to actual stonework. Meet me at The Red Hat tomorrow afternoon."

"The Red Hat?" Legolas asked.

"A tavern just inside the north gates," Gimli answered. "Best tavern in Minas Tirith, since Adam took over the beer making anyway."

"A brewer too? Adam is a man of many talents," Legolas observed.

"He's a sharp one," Gimli agreed unimpressed. "Don't ask him anything about the beer making," Gimli warned, "If you do he'll wax eloquent for an hour or so about the wonders of the beverage."

"Sounds rather like certain hobbits we know," Legolas said.

"A bit," Gimli agreed, "but a great deal more pretentious."

"I'll keep that in mind. I appreciate the warning," Legolas said. "Now back to this Hamlet fellow. You never said if you thought him truly mad or not."

"If he wasn't mad to begin with he must have been by the end."

"Why do you say that?"

"If he were only pretending madness he would not have..."

Legolas and Gimli talked far into the night of Hamlet and many other things as friends tend to do.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Legolas arrived at The Red Hat the next day at the appointed time along with Aragorn who thought inspecting the progress of the water works would be a nice change from trade agreements and tax revisions. Sampling the beer seemed like a good idea too.

The tavern was well kept with sturdy tables and benched and fresh rushes on the floor to soak up the spills. It was also well lighted, as such places go, with several windows along each wall letting in the sunlight and fresh air. There wasn't much of a crowd, men having already returned to work from their noon break. The only inhabitants other than the tavern keeper were a group of men in one corner playing at some game of chance, Adam at his favorite table under one of the windows, papers spread about, taking notes, Legolas and Aragorn. Gimli had not arrived, so Aragorn and Legolas went to see what the scholar was working on.

"Good afternoon," Aragorn said to Adam who was too involved in what he was doing to notice their approach.

"Good afternoon, Prince Legolas, Your Majesty," Adam said starting to rise from his seat.

"No need for the formalities here," Aragorn said waving Adam back to his seat, "And simply Aragorn will suffice. I happen to be evading my kingly duties at the moment."

"Well then, would you like to join me for a drink?" Adam asked, "The beer is excellent."

"So I've heard." Aragorn said taking a seat and motioning to the tavern keeper to bring beer. 

Legolas, having glanced over the Adam's notes, said, "I see you've taken an interest in Elvish. Very few men bother."

"The inscription on the stones which brought me here was partly Elvish. The possibility of a way to return home is a strong motivation," Adam said with some self deprecation. "Nothing against Gondor, mind you. Minas Tirith is a beautiful city and everyone has been more than kind, but..." he quickly added, remembering to whom he was speaking.

"It is a foreign country and you are among people strange to you," Aragorn finished for him.

"Being separated from your family and friends without knowing if you shall ever see them again must be extremely difficult for you," Legolas said with some sympathy thinking of his own turmoil. On one hand the elf had a desire for the sea, but on the other hand he did not want to be separated from his friends and family quite yet.

"Since my wife died, I haven't much in the way of family, but there are some good friends who probably think me dead by now. Mac has probably even managed to figure out a way to take on personal responsibility for my death by now," Adam said musingly, giving some thought to the probable events taking place back on earth.

"Why would this `Mac' think he was at fault?" Aragorn asked.

"Because Mac is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, noble warrior and fussy, hardheaded, old woman who is incapable of minding his own business. He is firmly convinced that correction of every mishap or minor evil since the creation of the world is somehow his responsibility," Adam explained.

"Someone has to take responsibility, or evil will run rampant," Aragorn pointed out in contradiction of Adam's mocking description. 

"I suppose you're right about that, but sometimes it can be bloody irritating. I'd much rather spend a quiet evening at home than rush about, risking my neck, righting wrongs which never did me any harm," Adam said plaintively.

"If you would rather not help, why do you?" Legolas asked, somewhat amused by Adam's unique point of view.

"Mac's a friend. I could hardly refuse him help when he needs it," Adam said with some indignation.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a meaningful glance and had to smile at that declaration. They could both see right through Adam's pseudo cynical pose to the honorable man lurking beneath.

"My apologies for being late," Gimli, who had arrived during that last exchange, said. "Laying the last batch of concrete took longer than expected."

"We weren't in any particular hurry," Aragorn replied, putting Gimli at easy. 

"Shall we go then?" Gimli asked.

"Anxious to get back before any of your workers make a mistake I see," Legolas observed, knowing what a perfectionist Gimli was and how demanding he could be of his subordinates.

"That's right. No telling what kind of foolishness they'll get up to without me there keeping eye on them." 

"Let us go then," Aragorn said finishing his beer, "before disaster strikes. Adam would you care to join us?" He added remembering the scholar.

"Why not? I doubt I'll get much more work done today," Adam said, shoving his papers into a sack.

The four strolled over to Gimli's work site, located just outside the gates. There they saw large sections of concrete in wooden frames and stacks of unused building materials everywhere. A half dozen workers were still at work on the last section on the other side of the yard, but most of the crew had been sent off to start digging, a task Gimli thought simple enough for them to manage alone. They stopped by the largest single piece which was roughly circular in shape and about 30 feet in diameter; Gimli explained it was to be the roof of the central hub.

"As soon as the sections in the frames are finished and deemed sound the first stage of the project will be finished," Gimli explained as he showed them around the site. "The first stage is to make the upper sections of the tunnels which can't be constructed in place. Next we will dig the trenches for the completed works and make them water tight with more concrete. Then these sections will be put into place and cemented together. And once we have made sure that all the joints are sealed properly and the water flows smoothly the whole thing will be covered over again."

"And how long should this take?" Aragorn asked.

"If all goes according to plan, six months give or take," Gimli said.

"Large open trenches in the streets of Gondor for six months," Aragorn said sounding unhappy with the idea.

"It really can't be done any faster than that. Originally, I was planning on nearly a year. It's not as bad as it seems on the surface. This is only in the outer city. Hardly anyone lives there, the drainage is so bad," Gimli said in defense of his project.

"That is true. I couldn't imagine such a project in the inner sections." 

"You won't need it there. The original work was much better done and should last another millennia at least."

"What was that?" Legolas, who had been inspecting one of the giant concrete slabs, asked.

"What was what?" Adam asked, surprised at the usually polite elf's interruption of his concrete making explanation.

"I didn't hear anything," Gimli added.

"Quiet," Legolas ordered holding up a hand for silence. "It's a creaking noise a bit like... wood cracking." 

The four of them looked at one another for a split second then they all ran out of the shadow of the slab. And not a moment too soon did they run, for within seconds a loud groaning sound issued from the wooden frame and the slab began to fall. All four had managed to clear the area before the slab hit the ground, but only just barely. Gimli would almost definitely have been squished if Legolas hadn't practically thrown him the last few feet. Dwarves, although having the endurance for distance running, were not sprinters.

After assuring themselves that no one was hurt, the four just stood there staring at the concrete slab, the wooden wreckage, and the rising dust in shock. All of them had had plenty of experience facing death, even the two immortals, but danger coming so unexpectedly on a normal day was surprising to say the least.

Gimli was the first to snap out of it. "I don't know what could have happened, but I plan to find out. That has been standing there for a month and men were crawling all over it. It makes no sense," he said stomping over to the remains of the foundation.

"I'd be interest to know the reason for this as well," Legolas agreed following Gimli.

Aragorn and Adam nodded in agreement and joined the elf and the dwarf in their inspection.

Gimli was circling around the remnants of the foundation looking for the weak spot. When he got to the front side he found what he was looking for. "Over here," he shouted to the others. When they had gathered around the spot he indicated he said, "Notice anything strange about these supports?"

"They're smooth, like they were cut through," Aragorn said. "But how? And why? There hasn't been anyone besides the four of us near here since we arrived and if they were cut earlier why would they not collapse till now?"

"Magic," Legolas said. "There's a lingering hint of it on the wood. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about the spell other than the fact that there was one there. Magic is not one of my talents."

"I doubt the details of how it was done matter. What difference does it make if the culprit sawed the planks and used magic to stick them together or if he used magic to cut them at a distance? What matters is the motive," Gimli said.

Adam, quiet up till now, finding himself a bit out of his depth dealing with magical matters, asked, "Who knew the king was coming here today?"

"Half of Minas Tirith probably," Aragorn said contemplating the possibility of an assassination attempt, "This morning, I told Legolas I'd come in front of Lady Dain. She likely told the entire court before breakfast."

"But who would want you dead?" Legolas asked.

"Any number of people I'm sure." Adam replied. "Assassination attempts come with the crown, or at least they do where I come from."

"Whoever did this took great pains to make it appear an accident," Aragorn said. "If they think we believed it so, they won't know I'm looking for them. What truly happened here today will go no further than the four of us."

Legolas, Gimli, and Adam swore to keep the secret and to help track down the would be assassin.

****

CHAPTER 4

After swearing to keep the incident that afternoon just between the four of them, they formed a tentative plan of investigation. Gimli and Legolas would study the manner in which the attempt on Aragorn's life was accomplished. Aragorn and Adam would look for those with a motive. Then they would meet later that night to discuss what they found out.

Methos, having quickly made friends among the gentry, working on the theory that one can't have too many friends in high places, spent most of the evening fruitlessly looking for unrest. Much to the cynical Immortal's amazement, King Elessar was almost universally loved. There were a few grumbles about taxes and trade regulations which no longer favored noble interests over those of commoners, but even the loudest complainers had to admit improvement to their lives. The gold lost in tax revenue was insignificant compared to the fortunes which no longer went to supporting a war effort or defending against common criminals. It was unanimous, the return of the king was a great blessing for the land of Gondor. As the evening came to a close and the appointed time of their meeting approached, Methos was becoming increasingly sure that the assassin had to be a foreign power or an enemy with a personal grudge against the king.

"Adam, I would speak with you," a beautiful voice called.

Methos was about to leave the hall and adjourn to Aragorn's study to make his report, when Arwen cornered him for the second time that night just before he reached the hall door. Arwen knew there was something bothering Aragorn which Methos was involved in and figured Methos to be an easier source of information than her husband. Methos had a hard enough time keeping the secret the first time and was sorely tempted to spill, 'She's going to find out anyway. There has not been a man yet who can keep a secret from his wife for long, if she's determined to find out,' he rationalized to himself. Then Methos spotted one of Arwen's greatest admirers approaching and thought better of revealing the truth. 'That fool, Landon, will distract her long enough for me to slip away. He'll struggle to stutter out some ridiculous ode to her beauty. She'll feel obliged to devote her attention to him out of pity. I'll make my excuses and be gone before Arwen can follow without hurting Landon's feelings.'

"My lady, I am at your disposal. What do you care to discuss?" Methos said agreeably.

"That, I find rather doubtful. You have been avoiding me all evening," Arwen replied, not buying Methos's innocent act.

"My sincerest apologies if I have given that impression. I would have gladly spent the entire evening in your charming company, if other social responsibilities had not stood in the way. I'm afraid one such approaches even now," Methos said. "Landon, my dear fellow, how are you this evening? I hear that the first shipment of your eastern trading scheme arrived only yesterday. I'm sure the queen would be most interested in all the details. I'm afraid I must take my leave. The king is expecting me." With that smoothly run together speech, Methos made his exit.

Arwen sent an irritated glance toward the retreating Immortal. Then taking up her social duties, Arwen gave Landon a bright smile and said, "Yes, Lord Landon, do tell me of the shipment. Are the embroidered silks as fine as the samples my ladies found so enchanting?"

"Th-they are f-finer. The most b-beautif-ful cloth I've seen. Although n-not a m-match for your beauty. N-nothing could b-be," Landon said.

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos entered Aragorn's study moments later, feeling slightly guilty about Arwen. Landon was nice enough, but he would be fawning over Arwen for the next half hour at least. Methos was the last to arrive. Gimli appeared to be assuring Aragorn that the water works were still proceeding on schedule with no major damage to the concrete section. Legolas was pouring himself a glass of wine.

"I'm not late am I? Arwen knows something is going on and was trying to pry it out of me," Methos excused himself.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Aragorn asked sounding slightly concerned.

"No, I didn't," Methos said.

"Why keep this secret from her?" Legolas asked. "Arwen is unquestionably trustworthy."

"It isn't a question of trust. I have complete faith in my wife. I just don't want to trouble her needlessly," Aragorn explained.

Legolas and Methos exchanged a skeptical look, both knowing the futility of the king's plan. "As you think best," Methos said dismissing the subject of the queen. "What have we found out?"

"For one thing those poles were cut by a person," Gimli started off. "There were the marks of a saw blade on the stumps. Whoever did this had to have been at the site earlier today."

"And the spell which held the two ends together was a fairly simple one which can only be released by the spellcaster himself. Whoever put the trap there in the first place had to be within sight of it to spring it," Legolas added.

"So our culprit had to be present during our visit and was there earlier that morning. Did any of your crew notice anyone suspicious?" Aragorn said, turning toward Gimli.

"Aye, they noticed a big bald man with a limp leaving the yard when they came back from their mid-day meal, but he was on the opposite side of the yard from them. No one could give a better description." 

"What of the spellcaster?" Methos asked, "Does that provide us with any clues?"

"There aren't very many humans who use magic, but most of them keep their practices a closely guarded secret. Witchcraft is greatly feared by the common people. Even if we knew the names of those who used magic, there's no way to know which one did this. The spell is simple enough for even the simplest hedge witch," Legolas answered.

"A tall, bald, man with a limp and elementary magic use isn't much in the way of evidence," Aragorn observed. "And, I've had even less luck searching for a motive. There are no foreign threats to speak of. The lords of the west are my allies and the lords of the east are still too disorganized from the fall of Mordor to turn their eyes to Gondor. Within Gondor, I can find no reason either. I have reviewed my past decisions in which there was an unhappy party, but can find nothing I'd credit as a motive for murder."

"I have found much the same thing. You are apparently universally loved, Your Majesty," Methos said. "Although, some personal animosity kept well hidden is still entirely possible, I begin to think that we might be barking up the wrong tree."

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn, not understanding Methos's figure of speech, looked at him questioningly.

"We assumed that the target was the king, but Legolas, Gimli and myself were all within range of that block as well. I'm not ready to abandon our original assumption quite yet. The most obvious answer is usually the correct one. But, we should keep in mind that it is only an assumption," Methos clarified.

"I don't have any enemies, that I know of," Legolas said. "I don't think I was the one he wanted dead."

"That goes for me as well," said Gimli.

"And since I only joined the tour as an afterthought, I'm not likely to be the target either." Methos conceded. "As I said, the most obvious answer is likely the correct one, but it doesn't hurt to explore all the possibilities."

"Back to the matter at hand," the King said, "where do we go from here?"

"We track down the bald man. And stay alert for another attempt. What else can we do?" Legolas asked somewhat rhetorically.

"I'll ask the regulars at the taverns near there if they've seen him," Methos offered.

"Perhaps my crew will remember something else," Gimli added.

"And I'll find what I can about magic users in the area," Legolas said.

None of them sounded very optimistic about the possibility of finding anything. 'In all likelihood, we'll have to wait till the next attempt on Aragorn's life before we find anything new,' Methos thought. 'These people just aren't devious enough for this type of thing. There isn't even an intelligence agency in Gondor. In any normal country, there would be professionals with connections to find the culprit. Although I don't doubt their skills on a battlefield, I'd be greatly surprised if this investigation goes well.'

Responding to the pessimistic turn the group had taken, Aragorn said, "My friends, I know you are worried for my welfare, but I assure you I am well able to defend myself. This assassin won't catch me off guard, now that he has revealed himself. He may live to make a second attempt, but I swear that attempt will not be successful."

Somewhat reassured by the king's supreme confidence, Gimli said, "We will wait and keep a careful watch. This cowardly worm will be caught eventually."

The rest of the group nodded their agreement and they all retired for the night.

* * * * * * * * * *

Aragorn entered the chamber he shared with his wife and found Arwen sitting at the window brushing her hair. He paused just inside the door, momentarily stunned by his wife's beauty. Most of the time he didn't give much thought to his wife's appearance. He knew she was beautiful, but she was simply Arwen, the woman he loved. Even if she wasn't beautiful, he would love her just the same. But, every once in a while, the truth would occur to him. Arwen would smile or say something to him, and it would hit him. Arwen Evenstar was the most beautiful woman in Middle-earth and she loved him.

Aragorn strolled across the room and joined Arwen on the window seat. One of the rare smiles which made him appear years younger on his face, he absentmindedly took the brush from his wife's hand and started running it through her hair.

"Hmm... that's nice," Arwen said.

"Is something wrong?" Aragorn asked, knowing Arwen usually gazed at the stars from their bedroom window when troubled.

Arwen stiffened, remembering her husband's peculiar manner this afternoon. She decided to give Aragorn a chance to tell her what was going on before taking the offensive. Whatever it was, it only began that day. Perhaps, he was simply waiting for a good time to talk to her. "Adam was avoiding me all evening," she said to give him an opening.

Aragorn saw what she was doing, but wasn't quite ready to tell her what she wanted to know. "That must have been terrible, having to make do with an inferior quality of compliments," Aragorn stalled with a feeble joke. The king's ability for deception suffered remarkably in the presence of his wife.

"Actually, in the few minutes he did speak to me, Adam paid me a great compliment." Arwen answered, giving Aragorn a little more time before giving her what she expected to be unpleasant news. "He said I reminded him of his late wife, Alexa."

"His Alexa must have been a remarkable woman," Aragorn said.

"Adam described her as one of those rare people who make the world seem a better place just by being near," Arwen said glancing over her shoulder at her husband.

Aragorn put the brush down and circled around Arwen to face her. Looking into her eyes he said, "He was right, Alexa had much in common with you. You make the world better by your very presence. Without you all would seem dark."

"All the more reason to lean on me when trouble comes. I love you and I want to help. Despite, my fragile appearance, I will not break under the burden."

Aragorn sighed and said, "Adam and Legolas didn't think I could keep it from you, but I didn't want you to worry."

"Then I shall worry about what I don't know. It seems your plan is flawed," Arwen pointed out.

"This afternoon's accident was no accident. Someone wants me dead," Aragorn stated baldly.

Arwen paled a bit then said, in a steady voice, "I had hoped that after the defeat of Sauron we could enjoy a peaceful life. Do you have any idea who could be behind this?"

"Not yet, although we, Gimli, Legolas, Adam, and I, are looking into it. Whoever he is, he's clever. If Legolas hadn't been there to warn us of the collapse, King Elessar would have died in an unfortunate accident this afternoon," Aragorn told Arwen. If he was going to share the truth with her he was going to share all of it, without trying to distort the danger into something less than what it was. Seeing Arwen's fear for him he added, "He only came so close because he caught me off guard. I am wary of him now, and he will not come so close again. I swear to you that this assassin will not be my death."

"Make sure you keep that promise," Arwen ordered. "I could not live without you. If you die, I'll never forgive you."

Aragorn smiled at Arwen's declaration and said, "I love you too. And not to worry, I always keep my promises."

* * * * * * * * * *

Much to Methos's surprise, he did manage to track down the bald man or, to be more precise, he tracked down the tavern at which the man was a regular. It was actually pretty easy, because in Gondor baldness wasn't too common. Male pattern baldness wasn't a common trait among the Dunedain or their mixed blood descendants. Add to that a limp and their culprit was a rather distinctive fellow.

The owner of the tavern, a dark, smoky, pit of a place that served cheap ale and cheaper women, was happy to give Methos all the pertinent details about the man in exchange for a little monetary encouragement. The bald man's name was Dirk. Dirk was a nasty customer who was drummed out of the town watch for disobedience and excessive brutality. During the war he was injured in one of the buildings that collapsed and the resulting limp turned him into an even more unpleasant drunkard than he already was. He was the type that would gladly participate in unsavory business if the pay was good enough. And last the tavern keeper heard, he was squatting in one of the partially damaged buildings on the outskirts of the city which hadn't been torn down yet.

Methos briefly considered questioning Dirk on his own, but quickly dismissed the idea. `I might be able to make quicker work of getting the information from him,' Methos thought, reflecting back on his experience as a legendary evil, `but the others will definitely want to be in on it.' So Methos went back to the citadel and informed Aragorn of his discovery. Aragorn and Legolas decided to go with Methos to see Dirk, while Gimli decided to skip it in favor of continuing his construction project since the others were more than capable of handling a single ruffian on their own. 

Late in the afternoon, Methos, Legolas, and Aragorn, clad in the utilitarian and non descript apparel of a Ranger, set out for the bad part of town. "Velvet and ermine would be more than a little out of place where we are going and I'd prefer to avoid drawing attention to myself," Aragorn explained in response to Methos's inquiring glance as they set off on their errand.

When they reached the section of damaged buildings which the city's poor had claimed for their own, Legolas looked around at the squalor and people in ragged clothing, many of them old or crippled and was appalled, "How can these people live in such conditions?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Methos shrugged having seen much worse and said, "It isn't all that bad. No one looks to be starving at any rate."

"Of course no one is starving," Legolas replied, "Minas Tirith is the wealthiest city in Middle-earth and this year's harvest was excellent. Why aren't these people who can't care for themselves being seen to?"

"I am doing what I can, but there are so many injured in the war and so few willing to take on the responsibility. Even those still capable of work have a hard time finding it. There are more able bodied men who were soldiers than work for them to do. The crippled have even a harder lot," said Aragorn, frustrated with himself for not having found a solution to the problem.

"If this is the extent of the problem, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. Most cities I've visited have a significantly larger poor section than this and as slums go this is probably one of the nicer ones. Besides, no matter what you do there are always going to be those who are going to live like this because they'd rather drink themselves into a stupor than do an honest day's work," Methos said pragmatically.

"Where exactly did you say this man was to be found?" Legolas asked, changing the subject.

"Actually, I didn't say, but we're almost there. He lives on the second floor of that building up ahead on the left, the one with peeling green trim and missing a door," Methos replied, nodding toward the building in question.

The three arrived at their destination and cautiously entered the building. The bottom floor was empty, gutted by fire some time in the past, with a rickety staircase along the back wall. The elf stopped and sniffed the air clearly smelling something unpleasant. "The smell of death," Legolas explained. 

Aragorn drew his sword and lead the way up the stairs. Halfway up, Methos and Aragorn picked up the sickly sweet scent of decay Legolas had detected earlier. Aragorn slowly pushed open the door at the top, letting out the eye stinging fumes which had been trapped inside the room, unsure of what they would find. Inside the room there was a filthy pallet against one wall, a pile of dirty rags next to it, and a body dead several days. Luckily, it was the middle of winter, so it wasn't too ripe, but the noxious odors trapped by the windows shuddered against the cold were still pretty bad. Aragorn sheathed his sword and Methos, handkerchief to his face, opened a window to let in some fresh air. Legolas, with a pinched look on his face, examined the body.

Dirk was pinned to the floor spread eagle with a knife through each hand and each ankle. His tongue was cut out, and his throat was slit. There was a stack of gold coins on his chest.

"He must have been killed just after he cut the poles," Aragorn observed. "to keep him from talking, no doubt, but why leave the coins?"

"Who can understand the reasoning of a mad man?" Legolas replied.

"The knives pinning him down, they show real malice. I don't think this is just a case of destroying witnesses. The tongue and the coins... perhaps Dirk here attempted to blackmail his employer," Methos mused.

"I'm afraid there is nothing to provide us with a clue to the assassin's identity here. Those knives are common kitchen knives, as can be found in any market place. There is nothing to be tracked here," Legolas said.

"Agreed," Aragorn said, "we shall have to wait for our enemy's next move."

The three returned to the citadel, stopping a guardsman on the way to inform him of the body. They were disappointed by their lack of progress, but resigned themselves to wary patience. The assassin was a danger, but not a great power. They had all faced worse before and were confident, at least for themselves, of eventual success if they went carefully at present. Aragorn had his reservations about the competence of his new friend `Adam,' but reassure himself that Adam had already been helpful and the scholar wasn't in any particular danger. Methos had his doubts about Aragorn too, thought he was perhaps a little too self assured, but had learned long ago the futility of arguing with a king.

* * * * * * * * * *

Months passed, winter turned to spring, and there were no further attempts on Aragorn's life. Everyone settled back into their routines and began to think the assassin had lost his nerve. Methos had returned to his translation project and was making progress in learning to read Sindarin with occasional assistance from Arwen and Legolas. Legolas was considering finally making his long postponed return to Ithilien. Gimli was nearing the end of his project.

One sunny afternoon, Methos was passing the time observing weapons practice which was held in the forecourt daily. `Very interesting,' he thought, `A mixture of eastern and western European techniques, but not a hint of Asian marital arts.'

The Lord-Captain in charge of the exercise noticed Methos watching and swaggered over to speak with him. `Damn, there's no way I can get out of speaking to him,' the Immortal thought, `That jackass won't leave me alone till I fight him, all because that nitwit Dia keeps throwing herself at me. Maybe I should just give him what he's asking for. Knocking him on his ass a few times might teach him a valuable lesson and I shouldn't shirk my duty to help build the character of the younger generation.' When the Lord-Captain approached him, Methos greeted the young man with an ever so slightly evil smile.

"Care to test that blade you carry about against my own, or is it just a fashion accessory?" the younger man said, getting right to the point.

"I could do with some practice, now that you mention it," Methos said honestly enough, he had continued with his normal morning workout in his quarters, but hadn't engaged in any actual sparing since his arrival in Middle-earth. "I'd be happy to take you up on your offer," he said fishing in his pocket for a thong with which to tie back his hair which had grown to nearly shoulder length in the past months.

"Yes.. whenever you're ready," the Lord-Captain answered a bit startled at Methos's easy acceptance of his challenge. He was expecting the scholar to be intimidated.

Methos secured his hair and drew his sword. "Right then, shall we proceed?" he asked motioning to the open area in front of them.

The two swordsmen faced off, saluted each other and the fight began. The Lord-Captain started off strong, not expecting much of a fight out of his opponent. He thought Methos's confident pose was simply that, a pose, and his bluff would be swiftly revealed. Unfortunately for him, he was wrong. Methos's abilities with a sword far out shone those of the Lord-Captain and he was familiar with techniques totally foreign to the younger man as well. The Lord-Captain didn't stand a chance. Methos had him disarmed with a sword to his throat in seconds.

"That was... unexpected," said a man from the side of the yard cast in shadow. "I don't believe I've ever seen anything quite like that. Although I must admit, it appears useful. An elbow to the head must be fairly distracting. Is that the normal practice in your homeland?" he continued as he came closer revealing himself to be none other than the king.

"Your Majesty," the Lord-Captain saluted Aragorn, embarrassed that the king had witness his humiliating defeat.

"Your Majesty," Adam said bowing to the king, the formalities had to be observed in public, "Normal enough, I'd say. A common sentiment is that the only ones who observe rules in a fight are the stupid and the dead," he said a bit sheepishly.

"A very sensible approach even if it doesn't evoke grand notions of honor and glory," Aragorn said with approval, having long out grown youthful enthusiasm and lust for glory. "Would you care for another match, or have you had enough practice for one afternoon?" Aragorn asked, hand on the hilt of his sword

"It would be an honor," Methos agreed thinking to go easy on Aragorn since it wouldn't do to publicly humiliate a monarch, especially not if he's a friend.

Combat began and Methos quickly adjusted his assessment of the king. Aragorn was good, even better than himself perhaps. The two danced about the courtyard for some time alternately gaining and losing ground. The guards stopped their practice to watch the interplay between two such highly skilled and equally matched swordsmen. Methos had thousands of years of experience and an ungodly number of sneaky tricks at his disposal, but Aragorn had a much greater natural talent with a sword and had plenty of practical experience equipping him to deal with the unexpected. Back and forth they fought until the Immortal began to tire. Aragorn had spent most of his life fighting the forces of evil where Methos had spent the past few centuries running from fights. Methos was unable to raise his sword fast enough to properly parry a blow. Aragorn's sword slid along the length of his sending him off balance. Aragorn swiftly took advantage of Methos's loss of control and slipped under the Immortal's guard.

Methos, glancing down at the sword pointed at his heart, conceded Aragorn's victory. As soon as Aragorn acknowledged his surrender and the fight was officially over, total exhaustion hit the immortal. "I could murder a cold beer about now," he said trying to catch his breath.

"As could I," Aragorn agreed sheathing his sword, tired, but not nearly as worn as Methos. "Good fight."

"That it was. Good thing my friend Mac wasn't here to witness it, he'd be nagging me about getting more practice." said Methos.

"Mac, he'd be the busybody old woman?" Aragorn asked.

"That'd be the one."

The two of them wandered off together in search of that cold beer discussing fighting techniques and Aragorn doing his best to pry the secret of how a scholar got to be so good with a blade out of Methos. The best explanation he got however was, "Legacy of a misspent youth." Methos may be good with a sword, but he is a master at avoiding questions he doesn't want to answer.


	2. Part 2

****

CHAPTER 5

King Elessar was sitting in the only substantially made piece of furniture in the queen's solar reading through the latest dispatches concerning Gondor's efforts to eliminate the last vestiges of Sauron's army. There were problems early on with bands of orcs and human bandits attacking travelers, but it was now under control and the roads were for the most part made safe. He wasn't devoting all that much attention to them, truth be told. It was a pleasant day and the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows was beckoning him to go riding.

Just as Aragorn was about to invite Arwen, who was busily working upon the royal finances across the room, to ride with him, Legolas appeared in the open archway which served as the room's entrance. "A message just arrived for you. It seems important. The messenger was very concerned," Legolas said bringing a letter to Aragorn.

The king opened the letter and swiftly scanned the contents, his expression becoming increasingly displeased. "Ill tidings?" the elf asked.

"Korvan and Tirmen are on the brink of war," Aragorn answered.

"But, I thought them the best of friends?" Legolas said.

"They were. They arranged a marriage between Korvan's daughter and Tirmen's son, but the girl apparently didn't agree with her father's choice and decided to elope with Tirmen's nephew. Now Korvan is blaming the nephew and demanding the dowry back and Tirmen's blaming the daughter and refusing to return it," Aragorn explained.

"Do these men tire so fast of our new found peace that they must go looking for a reason to fight?" Legolas exclaimed, in agreement with the king's frustration. "Spilling the blood of a man you called friend all for the love of money is madness."

"The fact that this has its root in an attempt to force love where it would not go makes it doubly so," Arwen added.

"I doubt it will come to bloodshed," Aragorn said. "I will see to that. If I leave early tomorrow with a swift horse, I should reach their lands by evening."

"Will your guard be ready to leave by then?" Legolas asked.

"I'm not taking them. I would not want to inflame an already tense situation by leading in a troop of armed guards. Tirmen and Korvan are foolish and hotheaded, but they are loyal men of Gondor. Also they were close friends of long standing before this upset and with some persuading shall probably be so again. I'll go alone to settle this matter before it results in violence."

"But what of the threat upon your life?" Arwen said with some concern. "Traveling alone would leave you vulnerable to attack."

"There has not been so much as a hint of danger to my life in the past six months. In failing the first attempt it looks as if the culprit has gone to ground and given up the project. I can not live the rest of my life in fear of what might happen," Aragorn said.

"You can't know that he has given up. Perhaps the assassin is simply waiting for the proper moment, looking for a time when you might be vulnerable," Arwen argued looking to Legolas for support.

"Although I had begun to think the danger past, and my errand this afternoon was to take my leave of you and finally return to Ithilien, I see much merit in Lady Arwen's point. After all, the first attempt was hastily planned and opportunistic, the villain taking advantage of a sudden break in your routine to arrange an apparent accident. It could be that there has been no second attempt because you are too well guarded, always surrounded by a flock of court functionaries. Traveling alone to settle this mess would provide an excellent opportunity to one who means you ill." 

Aragorn could see the sense in what his friends had to say, but still he was reluctant to bring a large escort. "I'm still hesitant of the possible consequences of bringing an armed escort and will not chance them to defend against something which remains only a slim possibility. Even if some attack were planned, remember I am well able to defend myself. For many years I walked alone fighting against those who would see me dead. I am not defenseless." 

"I know you are capable of protecting yourself, but I worry none the less. A large guard might worsen the situation, but what harm could there be in a few of your friends accompanying you on your errand? Surely Lords Tirmen and Korvan won't be threatened by a mere handful of men," Arwen persisted.

"Very well, to set your mind at ease, I'll invite a few friends along for the ride. Legolas, would you care to accompany me on my errand?" Aragorn asked.

"I'd be happy to. Gimli will likely wish to come as well," Legolas answered.

"Should I ask Adam, in the interest of symmetry?" Aragorn said not overly concerned about tomorrow's journey. The weather was pleasant. The destination wasn't far and although the reason for the trip was an irritation, Aragorn was confident he could easily sort it out.

"I don't see why not," the elf replied dryly. "I heard he did quite well on the practice field several days ago."

Aragorn sent messages to Gimli and Adam asking for their company the next day and got positive replies. The company was to assemble in the forecourt just after dawn the next day.

* * * * * * * * * *

Legolas and Gimli were the first to arrive in the forecourt that morning. "Tell me again why exactly Adam is coming with us?" Gimli asked.

"Symmetry, Aragorn said," Legolas answered.

"Symmetry?" Gimli said with some skepticism.

"Whimsy then. Aragorn doubts the necessity of taking companions on this trip, but if he's wrong Adam should be a good man to have around."

"Yet another of his hidden talents coming to light. Who is he truly? He has been here a year and is still a mystery. He claims to be a scholar and spends enough time with old records to prove his claim true, but then he's also a brewer, a carpenter, and most lately a great warrior. The pieces don't fit together," Gimli complained.

"Yes, he is something of a mystery, but whatever his secrets are they are his to tell as he chooses. He has been a friend to us this past year, and I believe him to be trustworthy. Whatever it is he keeps hidden shall likely be revealed in time," Legolas defended Adam.

"I didn't mean he was untrustworthy only that there is more to him than he would have us believe. Just what he is hiding is what I would like to know," Gimli said.

"As would I," Legolas agreed, closing the conversation, since he heard the topic of their conversation approaching.

"Morning," Adam said with a yawn. "Looks like we have a nice day for it," he observed looking up at the sky.

"Good morning," Legolas returned the greeting.

"Where's Aragorn?" Adam asked.

"He went to get the horses," Gimli said.

"Odd job for a king." Adam observed.

"So many years as a Ranger has ingrained the habit of seeing to his own travel arrangements," Legolas explained.

Just then, Aragorn arrived leading three horses. The four quickly mounted their steeds and they set off.

* * * * * * * * * *

Methos, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli rode out of Minas Tirith at a leisurely pace. Aragorn wanted to settle the matter that day, but even at a sedate amble they would reach their destination before sunset. Gimli, riding behind the elf, was no horseman and would rather not gallop if he could avoid it. Methos was rather glad of the slow start himself. He was an experienced rider, but was also a city dweller who hadn't had much occasion to ride in the past century. 'Thank the gods for small favors,' Methos thought, 'if it weren't for Immortal healing I'd be hobbling this evening. There's much to be said for the comforts of modern travel.'

The four rode in silence at first, appreciating the beauties of nature and not wanting to disturb the hushed quality of early morning when the leaves are still coated in dew. After a while, when the world became well awake, they exchanged idle banter to pass the miles.

"How are your studies progressing?" Legolas politely inquired of Methos.

"Actually, I've finished the translation of the fragment I had," Methos answered.

"And it didn't contain the answers you wanted," Legolas assumed since Methos was still there.

"No it didn't, that would be too easy," Methos replied. "There were some clues. It said passage was from 'gate to gate' which leads me to believe there is another gate where you found me. When we return from our errand I'll see what I can find at the site."

"I didn't see any stones like you described in the clearing," Gimli said.

"The gate on my side was none too imposing as a structure which could easily have been covered over. Perhaps the gate here is simply buried. Or then again it could be in some other form altogether. Either way it's my only lead and it can't hurt to look," Methos said, not overly concerned. After all, he had all the time in the world to solve the puzzle.

"That could be," Gimli said, "I'll help you look. If there's something buried, I'll find it."

Aragorn, silent through the conversation, suddenly stopped his horse, dismounted and pretended to adjust the saddle. He motioned for quiet. "I believe someone is watching us from those trees," he said softly, looking at a clump of trees to the left of the road up ahead. 

Legolas looked to the spot indicated by Aragorn and nodded his agreement after noticing the gleam of sun on metal where there should be no metal. "A man in armor." 

"It seems your fear for my safety is not without foundation. I very much doubt that man and whatever friends he has with him are here to toast the king's health," Aragorn observed dryly.

"It's starting to look like this won't be a wasted trip after all," Gimli said, fondling his ax.

"What's the terrain like just ahead?" Methos asked thinking of the possible fight coming.

"The road dips and curves around a small patch of trees. Good place for an ambush," Aragorn said.

"Ah, I see. Then perhaps we should be going back to the city now, for reinforcements," Methos suggested.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary. Now that we know they're waiting for us we should be able to take care of this without help," Aragorn said confidently.

"But, there are only four of us and we don't know how many of them," the Immortal protested, not liking fights with uncertain outcomes.

"The cover along the road is dense but small. There couldn't be more than twenty men hiding there and probably less than that," Aragorn said.

"Only twenty, let's get to it then," Gimli said impatient with all the discussion. "If Adam is afraid to fight, the rest of us should be up to the task without him."

"If you're sure you want to do this, I'm in," Methos said with resignation. "Better safe than dead I always say, but you're the natives. You know best how to proceed." 'Or at least I hope they know best,' Methos mentally added, 'I have a bad feeling about this, but anything potentially dangerous to my life and limb usually gives me a bad feeling.'

"If we're going to attack, we should do it now, before they realize we're coming," Legolas said.

Aragorn remounted and they headed toward the hiding men at a run. Just around the bend in the road they found their supposed ambushers, eighteen men in all. They were standing at alert but not truly prepared for battle. The group's sudden burst of speed had caught their lookout off guard and the ambush never received a signal.

Aragorn was the first to reach the men. He cut down one and managed to slice another one's arm from horseback, but he was not experienced in fighting mounted and fought better on foot so he quickly dismounted when the enemy was pushed back enough to give him room. He was quickly surrounded by six of the remaining men.

Legolas and Gimli pulled up short and dismounted before engaging in the fight. The dwarf was uniquely unsuited to mounted warfare and the elf could do very little with a passenger. Even so they were wading in to assist Aragorn, Legolas with his knives and Gimli with his ax, soon after the fight began. Gimli and Legolas swiftly dispatched two men apiece and started working to distract some of Aragorn's opponents

Methos was the last to join the fight, but was the most effective of the four. He was well versed in the ways to make use of a horse's strengths in a fight. He trampled one man and beheaded a couple others making good use of the horse's momentum. Then he dismounted as well, not wanting to be thrown by a horse that wasn't battle trained.

Legolas, Gimli, and Methos were having no trouble at all holding their own with only two opponents apiece, but Aragorn was hard pressed with the other four concentrating on killing him. Aragorn managed to eliminate the injured man, but the remaining three were still giving him trouble. Thankfully, the men were not the best trained of warriors, because even the unskilled are dangerous with the right numbers and if they were any better the king would be dead. The best swordsmen can still only concentrate on so much at one time. His only hope was to hold on till one of his friends was free to assist.

After what seemed an eternity to Aragorn but was mere moments, Legolas had finally defeated both of his opponents and was rushing across the road to help his friend, when out of the corner of his eye Methos, still busy with his last man, noticed a man about to swing at Aragorn's unprotected back. Knowing the elf would never reach Aragorn in time, he did the only thing he could do, he threw his own sword at Aragorn's attacker.

The hilt of the Ivanhoe hit the man in the shoulder throwing his attack off to one side of Aragorn. Aragorn used the man's imbalance as an opening to slice the man open. Legolas, who'd silently reached the fight, stabbed another man in the neck. Aragorn swiftly dispatched the last man then Legolas and Aragorn surveyed the rest of the fight.

Gimli, having killed the two men attacking him, was just taking care of the last remaining man by hitting him in the face with his ax. Methos without a sword didn't do so well. He was sitting at the side of the road propped against a tree. He was painfully dragging out the blade currently lodged in his entrails, knowing the revival process would be much more unpleasant if he didn't get it out.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli gathered around the fallen immortal, stricken by his apparently fatal injury. "My friend, I should have listened to you. This shouldn't have happened," Aragorn said, his voice laden with guilt.

Methos finally managed to pull the long blade from his body with a wince of pain then said, "No, it shouldn't have but... I haven't enough time to explain right now, but the guilt really isn't necessary."

"I don't understand," said Aragorn.

"There are things you don't know about me--" Methos broke off with a gasp of pain. "Just wait ten minutes before donning your hair shirt. You'll see." Then he murmured, "Damn, I truly hate this part," and died.

"What was he trying to tell us?" Aragorn asked. "Wait ten minutes for what?"

"I don't know," Legolas answered, equally mystified by Adam's strange behavior. "Perhaps it is some sort of custom in his land, to honor the dead."

"And what was that about a hair shirt? Could that be what they wear for funerals?" Gimli added.

"He was a brave man who died for my sake. I shall follow his wishes, no matter how strange. It is the least I can do," Aragorn said still feeling truly guilty.

The three stood mute, contemplating Methos's body when a strange thing happened. What looked like small bolts of lightning danced across the gaping wound repairing damaged flesh as it went. "What magic is this?" Gimli asked.

"I've never seen anything like it," Legolas replied.

Just then Methos, making an abrupt return to the living, gasped and sat up. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas were struck speechless in shock. None of them had ever seen or heard of anything like this. "How is this possible? You were dead," Legolas said the first to regain his bearings and ask the question that was on all their minds.

'I hope I'm right about being the only Immortal in this world.' Methos thought to himself. 'There's no way I'll be able to fob them off with some half truth or evasion. Without any headhunters liable to come looking for me I feel a lot better about revealing myself.' Methos braced himself for the unpleasant task of explaining himself and said, "I'm an Immortal and I can not die." Then looking down at his bloody shirt he added, "at least not permanently." 

* * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, back on earth, a certain Highlander was placing a phone call...

"Joe's," a female voice answered the phone.

"Is Joe there?" Duncan asked.

"Who may I ask is calling?" she said.

"Duncan MacLeod"

"Hold on just a sec, Mr. MacLeod. I'll get Joe," the woman said, recognizing the name.

"Hey, Mac. How's Paris? Should I start packing my bags?" Joe answered the phone.

"No need to make the trip unless you really want to. It's been pretty quiet of late. I'll probably be heading back to the States in another couple weeks anyway. Actually, I was wondering if you've heard from Methos lately. He was suppose to meet me here, but he hasn't turned up..." Duncan explained, sounding a little concerned for his missing friend.

"Last I saw him, was about four months ago; he was off to Switzerland for some research. He must have found something pretty interesting and lost track of time," Joe said, not too concerned.

"That's what I thought at first, but he's two months late and not answering his email. And, before he left he mentioned an Immortal after his head. I'm getting worried." 

"I see what you mean. Disappearing for a few months isn't out of character, but he usually lets us know he's dropping out of sight beforehand," Joe said starting to worry. "Another Immortal... I suppose it's possible, but if Methos was killed I can't imagine the watchers not knowing about it. A quickening of that magnitude from a supposedly young and unimportant immortal would cause a sensation," he continued for his own benefit as well as Duncan's.

"There is that," Duncan said slightly relieved. "If he's not dead, where is he?"

"I don't know," Joe said. "I'll do a little poking around. Maybe that Immortal hunting him's watcher knows something about his whereabouts. Did he say who it was?"

"He didn't name any names or go into detail. Young and incompetent is all I know."

"Well, that doesn't narrow it down very much," Joe said with a sigh. "Maybe I'll get lucky though."

"Thanks, Joe. I really appreciate this."

"No problem. He's my friend too, you know. I'll call you back in a couple days to let you know what I've found," Joe said.

"Right, well I'll let you get on with it then." Duncan said, somewhat reassured about his friend's continued existence, but still worried.

"Bye, Mac. Take care." Joe said good naturedly, tolerant of the Highlander's overprotective tendencies.

"You too." Duncan said.

* * * * * * * * * *

Back in Middle-earth another Immortal had some explaining to do...

"How is this possible? Men are not allowed immortality. Only the darkest of magics are able to grant even the semblance of immortality to men," Legolas said with some confusion and a touch of suspicion.

"I really don't know how it works. No one does. In my world Immortals just are. We're born with the potential to live forever and become immortal after our first death. If there's dark magic involved, I don't know about it," Methos answered the elf's suspicions.

"Explain this 'becoming immortal' and 'first death.'" Aragorn commanded remembering the effects of the ring and sharing the elf's concerns about dark magic.

"We grow up as perfectly normal humans. We get sick, injured, and we age normally. As a matter of fact, rarely does an Immortal know he's anything other than normal before dying the first time. Immortals can identify those who're going to be immortal, but it's considered bad form to tell them about it beforehand.

"If a pre-Immortal is lucky enough to survive to old age and die naturally, he stays dead. But, if he dies before his time the immortality kicks in. That's the first death. Afterwards we stop aging and can heal just about anything, even mortal wounds," Methos explained with some reluctance.

"You think those that get to die are the lucky ones? How very strange," Legolas observed thinking about the fall of Numenor and Iluvatar giving men the 'gift'of death which they didn't want to accept.

"There are definite draw backs to being an Immortal. We still live with mortals. Watching all your friends and loved ones grow old and die isn't a lot of fun," Methos answered with just the slightest touch of bitterness creeping through.

"I see." Legolas nodded in sympathy, thinking of what his own reaction was likely to be upon Gimli and Aragorn's deaths.

"If you came by this immortality so innocently, why did you keep it a secret?" Gimli asked.

"It's one of the first rules you learn. Never let anyone know you're immortal. We have to live with mortals. The fear and jealousy can lead to some pretty ugly things. Burning at the stake wouldn't kill me, but I can't speak for my sanity afterwards. Thus far we've blended in well enough that very few mortals even know we exist and I for one would like to keep it that way," Methos said.

"If your kind is so adept at hiding, could there be more of you, native to this world?" Aragorn wondered aloud.

"It's possible," Methos answered, "but not likely. Considering the size of Minas Tirith and what I've been told about the numbers of people in Middle-earth, I should have run into one by now. Uhmm... Perhaps we can continue this later? This isn't the ideal time and place for it," he suggested looking around at the armor clad corpses in the clearing.

"Good point. First things first. We will continue this later," Aragorn agreed with a look which clearly said Methos wasn't going to weasel out of answering questions about what he was. 

'Damn, he's going to be like a dog with a bone, not letting me be until he knows every little detail. I doubt he'll know the right questions to ask to get to the worst of it, but even without bringing up the Horsemen this is going to be really unpleasant. I truly hate explaining myself when I'm not sure of the reaction I'm going to get. And to make things worse, they'll be extra suspicious of me because of their history with men and immortality. I don't think I'll be able to slip any convenient fabrications past them,' Methos squirmed mentally.

"Are all of these dead?" Aragorn asked gesturing at the bodies.

"I'm afraid so." Legolas answered.

"There wasn't time or opportunity to save one for questioning. We were too hard pressed just defending ourselves to spare a moment to take a captive," Gimli said a bit defensively.

"A situation which was entirely my fault, if I had taken a few more men..." Aragorn broke off still feeling a little guilty for not taking the situation seriously but feeling considerably better than he did when he thought 'Adam' dead.

"If you'd taken a few more men, there probably wouldn't have been an attack," Methos pointed out. "As is, at least we can learn what we can from their remains."

"Learn what? They're common bandits. We need to know the name of their employer and I doubt they carry his name in their belt pouches scribbled on a bit of parchment," Gimli asked still somewhat disgruntled by the near death of the king and his failure to keep someone alive for questioning.

"His name on a bit of parchment would be nice, but even without it there's still something to be learned. These men aren't common bandits. They're too clean and their armor and weapons are a little too well kept for them to be bandits," Aragorn observed bending down to inspect the body closest to him.

"Now that you mention it, they were better fighters than bandits tend to be," Methos agreed.

"Soldiers then. Mercenaries or men loyal to your enemy?" Legolas speculated.

Aragorn pulled off one of their helmets, revealing features which marked the man as an easterner. "Eastern mercenary most likely. There could be some enemy to the east I'm unaware of, but the armor is in the style of Gondor. An eastern noble would have no reason to provision his men with western goods."

"There's something about that stitching I should remember," Gimli muttered to himself staring at the neck of a tunic visible above the leather armor.

Methos came over to look at it as well. "It does look familiar." He pondered a minute and said, "Lady Dia."

"That's right. She made a real nuisance of herself complaining about her seamstress being from Gorimet and hemming her favorite dress with that stitch," Gimli said.

"So Aragorn, who has repeatedly thwarted the schemes of Lords Korvan, Tirmen, and Barklin, sets out to stop a fight between former close friends Korvan and Tirmen. On the way, he is attacked by eastern mercenaries which Barklin could have hired through his eastern trade contacts who are clothed in tunics which were made in Tirmen's lands," Legolas summed up.

"Korvan has a lot of influence in Gondor's armory guild," Gimli added.

"It all fits together," Aragorn said grimly, clearly not wanting to believe the three friends were behind the scheme.

"Fits together a little too well if you ask me," Methos said. "Unless it's a double bluff."

"What is a 'double bluff'?" Legolas asked.

"It's when a criminal intentionally makes himself look guilty so that he can say, 'If I did it, would I be stupid enough to let myself look guilty?'" Methos explained.

"I take your point," Aragorn said. "Although, those three may be behind the plot, I'm still far from convinced. We'll just have to proceed to Korvan's keep as originally planned. If this was all an elaborate scheme to murder me, the proof we need will be there and if there truly is unrest I can't afford to let it go unchecked."

"If Korvan is trying to kill you, going to his keep will put your life at further risk." Legolas argued.

"No, the 'accident' and this anonymous attack leads me to believe secrecy is very important to the assassin. If it is Korvan, killing me in his own keep would be too obvious," Aragorn replied.

"And if you're wrong?" Gimli asked.

"Let us hope that I'm not. I have to chance the visit in any case," Aragorn said, his mind made up.

'Perfect, how do I manage to get myself into these things? All I've ever wanted was a nice peaceful, safe, life. Instead, I'm riding off into a possible nest of vipers in order to avert a war accompanied people who know I'm immortal when I wished they didn't. It's all MacLeod's fault. If it weren't for him my conscience would still be resting peacefully. I could have played dead and headed off in the opposite direction when they weren't looking. But, no, letting Aragorn feel guilty for my not actually dying would be wrong,' Methos thought as they climbed back on their horses and continued their journey. "Bloody Highlander." he muttered under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Legolas asked.

"No, it's nothing." Methos replied.

****

CHAPTER 6

The four proceeded to Tirmen's keep which was located on the eastern bank of the River Erui. Korvan's home was located just across the river, within sight of Tirmen's. Fortunately for Gondor, there was only one good ford in the river near their lands slowing the progress of the hostilities. If the river hadn't been there, separating the two, violence would have already occurred.

They reached Tirmen's keep late in the afternoon, less than an hour before sunset. It was an ugly building low to the ground and made of heavy gray stone, designed more for defense than pleasure. There was no attempt at elegance made in the construction. The windows were small and placed high up so as not to allow enemy arrows inside and there was very little in the way of adornment, a few unfurled banners was all, no sculpture or elaborate molding.

"Depressing sort of place," Adam observed.

"I could not live with so little light and air," Legolas agreed.

Lord Tirmen, a tall, thin man with rabbity feature and a receding hair line, came out the front gate to meet them. "Your Majesty," he said bowing, "I wasn't aware you were coming this way. I'm afraid we're not prepared to entertain you properly, but we shall make do. Anything in my power... you need only ask," Tirmen said a bit pretentiously as he lead them inside and they handed their horses to a servant.

"I ask you to end this foolish argument you have with Korvan and maintain the peace," Aragorn stated, well aware that wasn't what Tirmen had in mind when he made the offer.

"Ah.. yes.. well.. I would be happy to cease hostilities with Korvan. There's nothing I'd like better, but..." Tirmen stuttered out, nonplused by the king's straightforwardness.

"But?" Aragorn asked, arching an eyebrow challengingly.

"Yes.. well.. you see... I'm willing to be reasonable about the matter and would dearly love to avoid bloodshed, but Korvan, Korvan's being unreasonable. He's the one pursuing this injustice. I'm simply defending my interests," Tirmen said, trying to redirect the king's irritation.

"I see," Aragorn said dryly. "Then I must speak with Korvan." At this remark Tirmen's expression brightened a bit, but quickly turned worried again when the king continued. "Send a messenger across the river. Korvan shall meet us on this side of the ford in two hours time. There we shall end this matter once and for all." Glancing over at his companions who were starting to look a little worn--Gimli and Adam anyway, elves don't look worn--he added, "Tirmen, bring supper. Arguments are more easily resolved over a meal."

"It shall be as you command, Your Majesty," Tirmen assented with another bow. "If you'd care to wash away some of the road dust while I make the appropriate preparations, my man will show you to the guest rooms," he added waving a liveried servant forward.

"An excellent suggestion," Aragorn agreed glancing at Adam's torn and bloody tunic. The damage wasn't too noticeable in the late afternoon light because of the dark color of the fabric, but washing away some of the dried blood was still a good idea.

Tirmen set off in one direction and they followed the servant in another. When left alone in a spacious but poorly lit room with basins of clean water, Adam took off his shirt and did what he could about the blood stains.

"There's not so much as a scratch on you," Legolas said in amazement, looking at the place where the sword had exited Adam's back.

"One of the perks of Immortality," Adam said nonchalantly.

"None of the immortal creatures I'm familiar with are blessed with that particular `perk.' Elves heal faster than mortals, but never that completely," Legolas said.

"Different worlds, different immortals, different rules," Adam replied with a shrug, still working on his tunic. "Didn't we agree to postpone this conversation till later?"

"This is later," Gimli answered, sharing his best friend's curiosity about Adam's nature.

"It is later," Aragorn agreed, "but is it late enough? There are other, more pressing concerns, at the moment. Such as, Tirmen's reaction to our arrival."

"He seemed authentically surprised to see you here," said Legolas.

"But was his surprise because he expected you to be dead, or because he just didn't know you were coming?" Adam added, squeezing the water from his newly laundered tunic.

"How could he not know we were coming?" Gimli asked. "With the kind of trouble he's stirring up here, he had to know you'd come."

"Not necessarily," Aragorn said after a little thought. "Denethor wouldn't have come in person, there were too many other things needing his attention. He would have sent one of his sons or some government official, if his sons were busy."

"So we aren't any closer to proving his guilt or innocence," Adam said, grimacing as he pulled on his damp tunic. "I hate wearing damp clothes, but dried blood is worse. At least water doesn't itch."

"The weather's warm. You'll soon dry," Legolas said taking some amusement in Adam's seemingly contradictory behavior. `He dies and returns without comment, but complains about damp clothing,' the elf observed to himself.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Two hours later, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Adam, Tirmen, and a platoon of servers with all the fixings for a feast were assembled along the eastern bank of the river waiting for Korvan and his entourage to arrive. A small boat carrying Korvan, a short stocky man who was starting to run to fat in his middle years but still had a full head of light brown hair just starting to gray, and a couple retainers rowed into view. As the boat reached the shore, a group of soldiers marched into view on Korvan's side of the river.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tirmen demanded of Korvan as the man came ashore. "I specifically stated that this was to be a peaceful meeting. Why are your men assembled over there?" he said gesturing at the western bank.

"That is why they're assembled over there. They'll stay over there as long as this meeting is kept peaceful," Korvan answered somewhat belligerently.

"Are you saying you doubted my word?" Tirmen hissed back, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Of course I doubt your word. How can I trust the word of a man who would steal my daughter's dowry leaving her to suffer on the pittance you give that wastrel nephew of yours," Korvan answered with a sneer.

"Steal her dowry?!" Tirmen exclaimed, highly offended. "That dowry belongs to my estate by right. I shall no doubt have to pay that amount many times over to save my nephew from your harridan of a daughter's excesses. I won't claim any reparations on my son's behalf, although he would have a right to them, because the luck of avoiding a lifetime with that woman more than makes up for the humiliation of being left at the altar."

Korvan had been growing increasingly red in the face during Tirmen's speech and was slowly approaching the man with murder in his eyes, when Aragorn interrupted. "So you are both laying claim to the dowry out of concern for the welfare of your relations?" he said.

Tirmen and Korvan were both pulled up short by this interjection. They had both forgotten their surroundings in the heat of the moment; this reminder of the king's presence put a damper on their ire. 

"Yes, of course that is the reason. My nephew's future is of great importance to me," Tirmen said, hesitant at first but with growing confidence.

"A father has to look out for his daughter's future," Korvan agreed.

"Then the solution to this problem is quite simple," Aragorn said.

Korvan and Tirmen exchanged a confused glance then Korvan said, "It is?"

"Yes, if you're both so concerned about the financial support of the young couple then the dowry should be given directly to them. I had some concerns about what to do for your son, Tirmen, but since you relinquish any claim to reparations on his behalf this situation can be resolved tonight." 

"But, you can't..." Tirmen started to say then trailed off seeing the kings disapproving look.

"But, they wouldn't know what to do with it," Korvan said, trying a different tack. "Give those two the dowry and they'll run through it within the year. They need someone older and more experienced managing it for them."

Tirmen, appreciating Korvan's approach, quickly agreed. "Let us manage it for them. I'm sure we can work something out."

"No, giving over control to the couple directly is the only way. They may mishandle it, but that is a risk we must take. I refuse to leave open another opportunity for two such close friends to come to blows," Aragorn dismissed their objections.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Tirmen said with some reluctance.

"Your Majesty knows best," Korvan said clearly unhappy with the decision.

"Now that this unpleasant business is taken care of, will the two of you not clasp hands in friendship and sit down to the evening meal as friends?" the king suggested.

Tirmen and Korvan clasped hands and exchanged some private words. As they turned toward the tables and the waiting feast they swiftly engaged in conversation and appeared once again as two the friends often seen together in Minas Tirith.

"That was very smoothly done," Adam observed.

"The fastest way to repair a friendship is to give the former friends a common enemy to hate," Aragorn said.

"Are you sure this is the best time to be making enemies?" Legolas asked.

"It isn't much of a risk. If they're innocent of the attempts on my life, I doubt this will drive them to murder," Aragorn replied.

"And if they're already trying to kill you, this doesn't change anything," Gimli added. "I'd watch what I ate though, if I were you. This little irritation might push them into taking a chance."

"I'll have Adam taste everything for me." Aragorn said with a slightly wicked grin.

Methos gave him a dirty look and they all went to dinner.

* * * * * * * * * *

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Methos spent a single night in Tirmen's Keep then rode for Minas Tirith early the next morning. The questioning of Methos began as soon as they cleared the gates.

"You said that your kind are kept ignorant of your nature until you die the first time. To what purpose?" Legolas asked.

"To have a taste of mortal life. Knowing from the start that you might live forever leads to poor character development, for humans at least. And, there's always the possibility they'll die of old age before becoming Immortal," Methos explained.

"And that would be why you said 'might'?" Gimli said.

"Might?" Methos asked.

"You said 'might live forever'?" Gimli clarified.

"Dying naturally would be an impediment to immortality, but I was thinking more of the game."

"The game?" Aragorn asked.

Methos sighed and said, "The game is where we Immortals go about chopping each other's heads off, which is the only way we can be made permanently dead. 'In the end there can be only one.' The last one standing gets a prize."

"What prize?" Legolas asked, clearly appalled at the concept. "What could be so valuable that an entire race would hunt itself to extinction in order to obtain it?" 

"No one knows. Knowledge, power, something big, that is assuming there really is a prize and this isn't all some elaborate hoax." Methos said.

"You kill others of your own kind for an unknown prize which might not even exist?" Aragorn said, shocked at such seemingly mad behavior.

"I don't, but others do. I try to avoid fighting when I can. I only take heads to stop them from taking mine," Methos said defensively.

"I must be glad of your success, thus far, in saving your own head. If you weren't here, I'd be dead," Aragorn offered, half in apology for his hasty assumption, thinking of what might have happened the day before if Methos weren't there.

"That would explain how a scholar got to be so good with a sword," Gimli said, changing the subject slightly. "I suppose you've had a lot of practice."

"You could say that," Methos agreed.

"How much practice? That is to say, how old are you?" Legolas asked, wondering how this immortality compared to that of elves. "If you don't mind my asking..." he belatedly added, remembering his manners.

"I don't know exactly. I lost track somewhere along the way," Methos paused for a second considering how much to say. 'I don't suppose it will make any difference to them. They're not Immortals and there aren't any Immortals for them to tell.' he thought. "I think five thousand years, give or take."

"How can you not know how old you are?" Gimli asked.

"It is the sort of thing one remembers," Aragorn added.

"Well, I don't. I can clearly remember my first quickening." Noticing their blank looks at the unfamiliar expression, he explained, "Quickening, that's what it's called when you kill another Immortal. Anyway, I remember my first win, but before that it's all pretty hazy. I'm not even sure what my true name was, originally."

"Adam isn't your name?" Legolas asked.

"Well it is now. I change it periodically, most Immortals do. An archaic name doesn't help when you're trying to blend in. Actually, just before I came here, I was considering another change. Too many people know who 'Adam Pierson' really is or was," Methos explained.

"And, who would that be? What is it you wish others didn't know about you?" Aragorn said. 

Methos paused for a second thinking, 'what would be the best way to word this? I need to sound forthcoming about things I don't normally talk about without touching too much on things I'd rather not touch on.' Choosing his words carefully, he said, "The one name I've carried longer than any of the others is Methos. It's from the Greek word for myth, and I have the majority of Immortals convinced that is exactly what he, or rather, I am--a myth. You see, I'm the oldest which makes me prime real estate. If the truth ever got out, headhunters would be coming out of the woodwork. And, the younger ones would flock 'round looking for wisdom which may in fact be the worse of the two evils. Why people always assume great wisdom always comes with great age is something I'll never know."

"It doesn't?" Legolas asked one eyebrow arched.

"No, it doesn't. I've known more than one vintage Immortal and none could claim any greater share of wisdom than that of mortals. In fact, there are quite a few who are worse than animals. I can say with some certainty, that elven wisdom isn't due to immortality. It's because you're elves." 'If anything,' Methos silently added, not wanting to give offense by openly challenging the assumption that elves are wise. 'They may in fact be as wise as everyone says, but I haven't met enough of them to judge,' he thought.

The conversation continued in the same vein throughout the ride back to Minas Tirith. By the time they reached the citadel that evening, they'd covered all the important points of Immortal existence and even discussed the Watchers. What Methos avoided discussing, were the precise details of his past life. He made sure to keep his time as Death, one of the Four Horsemen, a closely guarded secret, positive his new friends wouldn't understand.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, after breakfast, Methos went to find Legolas or Gimli. Gimli was nowhere to be found. Legolas was sitting under a big oak tree in the Queen's Garden, fletching arrows.

"Morning," Methos greeted the elf. "Do you have a minute? I think there are things we should discuss." 

"There are things we did not discuss yesterday?" Legolas said, thinking of their long analysis of Methos's immortality.

"The attempt on the king's life," Methos reminded. "It did get kind of lost in the shuffle," he said sitting on a bench near the tree.

"What else is there to discuss?" Legolas asked, ignoring Methos's odd figure of speech, as always. "We found out what we could just after it happened. What more is there to say?"

"I've been thinking about those tunics. They were all the same, so were probably bought from the same person, if not all at the same time. They were also not brand new. The men must have been wearing them for a month or two, at least, considering the amount of wear and tear. Then you factor in the stitching, a stitch confined to a limited area and number of tailors. I think we might be able to trace them back to their purchaser."

"I see what you mean," Legolas said. "There couldn't be too many tailors who use Gorimet embroidery and sold eighteen or more identical tunics a couple months ago. And, if we find the tailor, he might lead us to the assassin. To another lackey at the very least. A tailor of Gondor would be reluctant to work for eastern mercenaries."

"And?" Methos asked, knowing Legolas could figure the rest out himself, once he thought about it.

"And, the mercenaries themselves had to have been here a couple months ago to get the tunics. Someone must have noticed them," Legolas continued.

"Precisely. What I wonder though, is if they were working for their regular employer at the time or if it was someone else. I seriously doubt the assassin brought those men to Gondor and kept them here for a month or two on the off chance that Aragorn would give them an opportunity. They had to have come here on some other business," Methos said.

"They were probably working as caravan guards. Since the war ended, there has been so much trouble with bandits that even eastern mercenaries can find work. Although, that is changing now that Aragorn has the time to deal with the matter," Legolas said. "I feel like a fool, not realizing any of this until now."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Methos said. "You're a prince. Looking for clues and solving crimes isn't exactly in your line of work."

"But, it is in yours?" the elf said skeptically, still finding fault with himself.

"Actually, in a way, it is. To a scholar, the answers are never clearly spelled out, in black and white, or in the records. A scholar has to sift through information looking for clues and following leads," Methos explained. "Speaking of leads, how should we go about following up on the ones we have?"

"If by 'following up on leads' you mean continuing our search for the assassin, I believe we should consult with Aragorn and Gimli before making a plan of action. If luck is with us, those mercenaries may have made an appearance in one of the dispatches. I know an eye is kept on even the supposedly law abiding mercenaries, seeing as they often turn to banditry when employment is scarce."

"Well, let's hope we get lucky." 

Legolas finished fletching his last arrow and put it in his quiver. Then the two of them went to see the king.

****

CHAPTER 7

The four divided up their 'leads.' Aragorn and Methos would concentrate on finding reports of the mercenaries. They would read through the dispatches with Methos doing most of the reading, Aragorn being busy with other duties. Aragorn would also have his agents ask around. Legolas and Gimli would try to track down the tailor. They got results almost immediately, or at least Gimli did.

"Where did you put that tunic you saved for evidence?" Gimli asked Methos as they left Aragorn's study.

"It's in my quarters. I'll go fetch it. You'll be... in the garden?" Methos ventured, noting Legolas's presence and knowing that the elf liked to be outside.

Gimli nodded in agreement. "I'll just be a minute then," Methos said before turning down a side corridor.

"Is there something else special about the tunic, besides the stitching?" Legolas asked his friend, wanting to know why Gimli wanted to see it again.

"Not special, exactly. But, every craftsman's work is slightly different. I don't know enough about sewing to tell the difference, but an experienced tailor or seamstress should be able to identify the work of those they know personally," Gimli explained as the two continued toward the gardens. 

"I see," Legolas said. "But who do we ask? How do we know the person we ask isn't the one who made the tunic? He, or she, would likely be reluctant to admit the truth. The attempts on the king's life are not common knowledge, but the king's friends asking after the maker of a bloody tunic would make most commoners nervous."

"I hadn't thought of that," Gimli said with some consternation. "Figuring out whom to ask could be a problem." Then after a pause for thought, "What about Dia's maid? She should know several who use Gorimet stitches."

"How do we know she didn't make this herself?" Legolas said.

"We don't, but I doubt it was her. Who would contract a lady's maid to outfit a mercenary troop?" Gimli answered.

"That is a point," Legolas agreed. "We'll question Lady Dia's maid as soon as Adam brings us the tunic."

* * * * * * * *

Adam brought them the tunic; Legolas and Gimli went to find the maid. Her name was Amalia and they found her in the laundry, patching garments. The laundry was one long room with large vats of boiling water at one end and long tables, at which women mended and sorted clothing, at the other. Lines of hanging laundry acted as a curtain between the two halves. Gimli and Legolas entered through the door at the sorting end. Startled by the appearance of two lords below stairs, a hush fell among the women.

"Which one is she?" Gimli asked.

"Short with red hair they said," Legolas said, referring to the various servants they'd asked about Amalia. "The one on the end, that must be her."

The two walked across the room to where Amalia was sitting, as a low buzz began among the women who were exchanging speculative whispers regarding Legolas and Gimli's purpose in the laundry room.

"Amalia?" Legolas asked the wide-eyed girl who was clearly shocked to find two such significant personages talking to her.

"Y-yes, my lord," she answered, rising from her seat and awkwardly executing a curtsy. 

Legolas gave her a smile which was meant to be encouraging, but only served to make her more nervous. Then, handing her the tunic, he said, "We have this tunic with Gorimet stitching and were wondering if you could tell us who made it?"

"Of course my lord. I-I mean I can try," she answered examining the stitches. "Grenel made this," she said confidently.

"You're absolutely sure?" Gimli said.

"Yes, my lord. Every fourth stitch is placed low. He's done that since he lost a finger to frostbite one winter," Amalia confirmed.

"Where might we find this Grenel?" Legolas asked.

"He lives in Gorimet, my lord. Ask anyone for the tailor and they'll point you to his house," Amalia answered.

"Thank you for your assistance," Legolas said, taking back the tunic. "You have performed a great service for Gondor."

"You're welcome, my lord," Amalia said, blushing and giving another curtsey.

Gimli and Legolas left the laundry room, Gimli saying to Legolas, "It looks like we have another trip ahead of us."

* * * * * * * *

After discussing their plans with Aragorn and Methos, Gimli and Legolas set out for Gorimet the following day. They made the trip at a leisurely pace, allowing for Gimli's discomfort on horseback, and arrived at their destination late the next day.

"I don't suppose there'll be an inn," Gimli grumbled, taking in the small cluster of buildings. "I'd be surprised if there's even a tavern. There couldn't be more than four or five families living there."

"Actually, there is an inn. It caters to merchants who come once a year to buy pelts," Legolas replied.

"How did you come to know that?" Gimli asked slightly surprised.

"I asked," the elf replied dryly. "I thought it would be wise to find out what I could about Gorimet before we left."

"And what else did you learn, oh wise one?" Gimli said.

"Gorimet consists of half a dozen families, descended for the most part from those who resided in Gondor before the Dunedain came. They make a living by hunting the animals who live in the nearby mountains and selling the skins. The Gorimet stitchery, which we find ourselves so interested in, is related to their main profession. It is derived from a method for sewing leather, and even at present Gorimet's residents tend to wear more leather than cloth," Legolas replied in a mock pretentious tone.

"Did you find out anything of use?" Gimli asked.

"No, nothing particularly useful came to light, other than the fact of the inn's existence," Legolas said, going back to a more normal tone of voice. "There it is," he said, motioning toward a two story wooden building painted blue with red trim.

"It looks vacant," Gimli said taking in the darkened windows in the evening gloom.

"There's a light at the back, where the kitchen must be. It isn't fur season, but someone is there." 

They rode over to the front of the building, dismounted, and tied the horse to one of the porch railings. Entering through the front door, they discovered an empty common room with sheet-draped furniture. Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance, then Gimli called, in a loud voice, "Hello, is anyone here?" Then, banging on a table with his ax handle, he called again, "Hello? You've got customers."

A short, roly-poly, man scurried into the room through a door behind the bar. He was of middle years and had thinning sandy brown hair. This was undoubtedly the innkeeper, he had the harried but good natured expression common to innkeepers the world over. "Welcome to the Wandering Sailor, that was the owner before me, went to sea in his youth and the name stuck. So sorry there was no one to greet you, but I didn't know anyone was coming. Usually, there's no one this time of year. As a matter of fact I can't remember ever having guests in August. Not that I wouldn't like guests in August. I'm always happiest when there are a few guests underfoot, not that you'd be underfoot..." the man babbled on, trailing off when the odd appearance of his guests finally registered. Guests in August were strange enough, but an elf and a dwarf in Gorimet, traveling together of all things, was unheard of. "What can I do for you my lords? You must be weary from your journey. How does a pint of ale, a hearty supper, and a soft bed sound?" he asked, finally getting to the point.

"That sounds about right," said Gimli.

"Right this way then, gentlemen." the innkeeper said rounding the bar and turning down the hall, which opened to one side of it. "There's a private parlor back here which should be a bit more cheerful than this great empty room. Should be more comfortable too. At the height of the season the latecomers end up bedded down in there so I made sure the chairs were something a man could sleep in without doing himself permanent injury," He stopped at a door and motioned Gimli and Legolas in.

The room was richly over furnished. There was a patterned carpet and a tapestry on each wall, none of which matched. Despite the garish appearance, it looked comfortable enough. There were a couple of thickly padded wing backed chairs conveniently placed around a small table. Such an arrangement would undoubtedly be more comfortable than the wooden benches found in most common rooms and was also more convenient than eating off a tray in one's room. 

"This will do nicely," Legolas said, grateful for such comfortable and well kept accomodations.

"Make yourselves comfortable and I'll be back in a thrice with the refreshments. For supper there's venison, just roasted today. I don't have a full larder for entertaining, but I suppose I could manage something else, if..." the innkeeper said somewhat doubtfully.

"Venison sounds good," Gimli interrupted.

"It will be up in just a moment," the innkeeper said, relieved, departing for the kitchens.

Legolas and Gimli enjoyed a pleasant meal and retired for the night to comfortable beds in clean rooms. The elf might have been just as happy sleeping under the stars, but Gimli greatly appreciated the unexpected convenience of a well run inn.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, Legolas and Gimli went to speak with Grenel, the tailor.

"Which house did the innkeeper say was his?" Legolas asked Gimli.

"He said it was the green one," Gimli answered.

There was a green house directly across from the inn. It consisted of one long central building and several sprawling additions, added to house a growing family. The two went over to the house and knocked on the front door. A young woman carrying a baby with a toddler clinging to her skirts answered the door. "What d'you want?" she said irritably.

"We're looking for Master Grenel," Legolas answered politely.

"Oh," she said turning back inside the house. Then she shouted "Uncle, you've got visitors," startling the visitors. "Come in, if you're coming," she said to Gimli and Legolas in a more normal tone of voice. "Uncle Grenel's coming," she added before leaving the room.

They ducked into the house through the low doorway, or at least the elf ducked. The main part of the house was one large hall with a hearth at the opposite end from where they were standing. It was furnished with heavy wood and leather couches and chairs which were crudely made but durable. The interior would have had a rather stark appearance but for the wooden toys strewn across the floor and the wet clothes hung to dry in front of the hearth.

An old man leaning heavily upon a cane hobbled in. "You gen'lemen wanted to see me?" 

"You're Master Grenel?" Gimli asked.

"Aye, I'm Grenel. I 'spose my niece should have introduced me all proper like, but the childer gettin' ill and their father not taken'em out o' her hair has made her right tetchy," the old man said. "What can I be doing for ya?" he continued as he hobbled over to the nearest chair and took a seat.

Legolas pulled the tunic out of a pouch he'd been carrying, slung across his back next to his quiver and said, "We were told this was your handy work?" looking for confirmation.

Grenel took the tunic from the elf and after a glance at the seams said, "Aye, this is one o'mine. Why d'ya ask?"

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look and decided to trust the old man, to an extent. "Men wearing tunics like this one were killed in an attempt on a very important person's life. We're trying to find the one who bought the tunics," explained Legolas.

"There was more'n one you said?" Grenel asked.

"Yes, there were more than a dozen," Gimli replied, not wanting to give away too many details.

"It must have been that merchant fella' then. That's the only order that big I ever made," 

"Merchant fellow?" Legolas said, asking for more details.

"Real oily sort. A right weasel. Came here for the fur trading and asked for twenty-three of them tunics. Almost didn't do it for him. I was glad of the custom but only so long as I was sure the payment was comin', if you see what I mean. Wouldn't have except he agreed to pay me up front."

"But, what was his name?" Gimli pressed.

"What was it? Setin, Sorin, Selin..." the old man muttered to himself. "I'm afraid I can't rightly remember. He did brag on the warehouses he had in Dunton."

"Dunton?" Gimli asked.

"Little spot over in Lebennin on the Celos. That's where they load the ships goin' down to the Great River," Grenel explained.

"Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?" Legolas asked.

"No, that'd be about it," Grenel said regretfully.

"Thank you, for what you did tell us. It should be enough to find him, even without the name," Gimli said graciously.

"I wish you luck in findin' 'im. I knew he was up to no good, just from lookin' at 'im," said Grenel.

"One other thing, before we take our leave, how is it that a place as small as Gorimet comes to have a tailor?" Legolas asked curiously.

"Gorimet don't have a tailor, not truly. I was a hunter for more'n thirty years, 'fore I busted my leg. The tailorin' is just somethin' folks give me to do to keep me feelin' useful," Grenel said with a self deprecating smile, clearly taking his forced change of career in stride.

"I see," said Legolas. "Thank you once again for your assistance, and we must be going. It appears we have another journey ahead of us."

They said their farewells, stopped by the inn to collect their things and re-provision, and set off for Dunton.

* * * * * *

Gimli and Legolas arrived in Dunton late one morning, several days later. Dunton wasn't very far from Gorimet, but there was more than one river that had to be crossed first. Riding up and down rivers looking for bridges or fords added time to the journey.

Questioning a few passersby quickly yielded the information they were looking for. The only man who fit all the criteria, merchant, warehouse owner, name beginning with an 's' and shifty in appearance, was Trader Sekin. Sekin was quite well off, owning several of the most centrally located warehouses. Sekin's great wealth and prominent position in the local economy was the only reason his presence was tolerated in Dunton. Not only did he have a disagreeable personality, he also possessed a reputation for dealing in the dark arts. When asked about Sekin, most of the townspeople assumed the inquiry was pursuant to a witch trial and were more than happy to explain Sekin's misdeeds, or supposed misdeeds, in detail.

As the friends approached Sekin's place of residence, a garishly decorated mansion on the outskirts of town, they discussed this new piece of information. "Do you think what those people said is true? Is he really a witch? Or is that just the imaginings of superstitious people upset by Sekin's shady business practices?" Gimli asked Legolas.

"It wouldn't be the first time accusations of witchcraft sprung from some motive other than truth, but it does fit together. He's connected to the assassination attempts through the tunics and there was witchcraft involved with the first attempt. Unless he has a partner in this, he would have to be a witch."

"That is what I was afraid you'd say," Gimli said with some consternation. "Asking a weasel of a merchant a few pointed questions is one thing. Cornering a witch is something else. Dark magic makes me a bit nervous, when there's not some one, like Gandalf, well versed in such matter to help out."

"I share your concerns. Dark magic is not for the unwary to trifle with, but I doubt this Sekin will be too great a danger for us to take in hand. If he had truly great powers, he wouldn't still be a mere merchant. The lesser magics take time to prepare. We won't give him time enough to complete a ritual or a say a chant," Legolas reassured.

"Right. If he looks to be starting some magic we'll brain him. He won't be calling on the forces of darkness while he's unconscious."

The two reached the house, entered through the gate, walked up the front garden path, and knocked on the front door. A man, who could only be Sekin himself, answered the door. He was small, squinty eyed, and looked like a weasel. His overly rich clothing, silks, satins and velvets in an array of colors, confirmed his status as master of the house. When first answering the door, his expression was a mean and irritated one. After taking in the appearance of his callers, he tried to look more pleasant. "How may I serve you my lords?" he said obsequiously, bowing low. "Please come in, out of this dreadful weather." he continued, stepping back out of the doorway and opening the door a little wider.

"I would prefer it if you joined us out here. It is such a pleasant day," Legolas said looking as if he'd smelled something foul.

"Of course, whatever you'd prefer," Sekin agreed. "What business brings you to my doorstep? Buying or selling?"

"Neither," Gimli answered in a grim tone.

"Neither?" Sekin asked beginning to sense something wrong.

"We came to ask you what you know about this tunic," Legolas said taking the blood stained tunic out of his bag.

Sekin glanced at the tunic nervously, starting to sweat profusely. "I've never seen it before in my life. Common goods it looks. I only deal in valuable luxury items," he said quickly.

"Don't bother lying. We talked to the tailor. We know you're the one that bought it," Gimli contradicted.

"Yes, now that you mention it, maybe I did buy it. I bought some tunics to outfit my caravan guards. What of it? That's no crime." Sekin said nervously.

"And?" Legolas asked.

"And what?" Sekin replied.

"And what exactly did you hire those guards to do roughly two weeks ago?" Legolas pressed.

"Nothing. I-I haven't seen them in months, when my last shipment came in," Sekin stuttered out.

"He's lying," Legolas said to Gimli.

"Want me to hit him with my ax a few times? That might bring out the truth," Gimli answered conversationally.

"It might at that," Legolas replied in the same tone. "Try it, but be careful not to kill him. He needs to be able to talk."

Sekin looked from Legolas to Gimli and back again, assessing the seriousness of the threat; then he bolted. Sekin ran around the corner of the house with Legolas and Gimli at his heels. On that side of the house, there was a maze. Apparently, Sekin hoped to escape the elf and the dwarf by losing them in the shrubbery. 

Sekin entered the maze ahead of Legolas and Gimli. When the two got inside, Sekin had already turned down one of the leafy corridors. "Which way?" Gimli asked.

Legolas held up a hand for silence, then said, "That way," pointing towards the right most path. They raced down the path Sekin had taken and caught sight of him within moments. Sekin, believing he had lost his pursuers had stopped to draw symbols on the ground with a stick.

"Quickly, he's doing a spell!" Gimli shouted.

Sekin, noticing their arrival, stepped inside the design on the ground and started to chant. Before Sekin was even halfway through the first line the elf tackled him to the ground and knocked him unconscious.

"I never thought I'd see an elf execute that particular maneuver," Gimli observed as he approached the unconscious witch.

"I thought it wise to stop his ritual as soon as possible. I could feel the dark power rising," Legolas explained, dusting himself off.

"So he's definitely the witch then?"

"Yes, he reeks of dark magic. I knew him for what he was the minute I laid eyes upon him."

"What are we to do with him now? Take him back to Minas Tirith for questioning?"

"I suppose we should. Aragorn would be vexed with us if he didn't get to do the questioning himself," Legolas said rummaging in his bag.

"What are you looking for?" Gimli asked.

"Rope."

"That was good thinking, knowing to bring a bit of rope along. Wouldn't happen to have anything we could use for a gag or a blindfold?" Gimli said hopefully.

Legolas handed Gimli the rope, saying, "You tie him up. I don't want to touch him, if I can help it."

Gimli took the rope and started to tie Sekin up. "What about the gag and blindfold?" he asked the elf who was still cataloguing the items in his sack.

"I'm afraid we'll have to rip pieces from the tunic. Samwise Gangee only waxed eloquent on the myriad of uses for rope. He didn't mention spare bits of cloth. I didn't bring anything."

"Aragorn and Adam aren't going to like us ripping up pieces of evidence, but they'd like burying our spell blasted corpses less," Gimli assented to the suggestion. "Hand me the tunic."

After the dwarf had secured Sekin to his satisfaction, Legolas asked, "Can you manage him on your own or should I fetch the horse?"

"You're truly serious about not touching him?" Gimli said.

Legolas nodded in reply. "Touching those who have turned to darkness is tainting."

"But, it's acceptable for me to be tainted?" Gimli asked pointedly, but not with the antagonism which would have been present before their friendship developed. Gimli knew his friend wouldn't let him come to harm, but he was curious.

"Dwarves have a strong resistance to the powers of darkness. It would take considerably more than your carrying him about for his evilness to have any effect upon you," Legolas explained.

"Thought it might be something like that." Gimli said with some pride. He picked up Sekin and tossed him over his shoulder, none too gently. "He's light enough, but an awkward shape for carrying. You'd better fetch the horse."

Legolas went back around the house and returned a moment later, leading the horse. Gimli tossed the still unconscious Sekin on the horse and the they started walking back to town. "Hauling him across country with you not touching him isn't going to be easy," Gimli observed.

"I was just thinking that myself. Perhaps we should sail to Minas Tirith?" Legolas suggested.

"That will certainly be faster," Gimli agreed, knowing of his friend's new found love of boats. They'd spend this trip sailing upon rivers rather than going out to sea, but anytime spent upon water was agreeable to Legolas.

"When we get back to town, we'll hire a ship," Legolas said with a happy grin.

****

CHAPTER 8

Meanwhile, back on earth, a phone was ringing...

"Hello?" Duncan answered distractedly as he finished folding a shirt.

"Hey, Mac. What's up?" Joe asked. "I thought you were flying back to Seacouver last week."

"I was, but there was some bad weather and a lot of flights were canceled. I should be on a plane tomorrow morning. I'm packing as we speak," the Highlander answered, feeling slightly harassed. He didn't mind Joe keeping tabs on him, but every minute didn't need to be accounted for.

"Good, I was worried you'd gotten into some trouble. You know how trouble likes to follow you around," Joe said in his own defense. "But, that's not the reason I called. I finally got some info on Adam."

"What'd you find out?" MacLeod asked, putting down the sweater he was folding, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

"It's strange. I tracked down the Watcher of the Immortal hunting Adam. Her assignment was Nathan Grey a 97 year old Immortal who made a habit of hunting the young and helpless. He wasn't known for being very good with a sword. My best guess is he went after Adam thinking he was a newbie and bit off more than he could chew," Joe explained.

"So Methos definitely won the challenge, what's strange about it and where is he now?" 

"I'm getting to that part. Grey's Watcher followed Grey to Switzerland where he challenged an Immortal unknown to the Watcher. Grey challenges this Immortal out in the hills somewhere. So far so good. Then, after the fight begins, the Watcher goes off into the trees to get a safe distance from the quickening. She sees the light show and waits for the winner to come down, but no one comes down the hill. After an hour or two she went back up to investigate. There she finds Grey's corpse and the other Immortal's backpack, but there's no sign of the other Immortal." 

"That is strange," MacLeod replied. "Methos could have left without the Watcher noticing, but why would he leave behind his bag? Leaving evidence isn't like him."

"That's what I thought. So I did a little more checking. I called the local inn. They hadn't had an Adam Pierson, but there was a Mike Adams fitting his description staying there about five months ago. The clerk remembered him in particular because halfway through his scheduled visit, on the same day as that challenge, he suddenly disappeared, leaving all his stuff in his room. Then the police got involved. They found his rental car abandoned on the side of the road, near where that fight took place."

"I thought he was going to stop using Adam names for awhile. Are you positive Mike Adams is Methos?" Duncan asked.

"As certain as I can be without seeing him in person. The clerk described him down to the aristocratic nose and wrinkled clothes. He even mentioned the tendency to wax poetic about beer. Mike Adams is probably one of his half dozen back up IDs and he couldn't resist using it at least once before discarding it."

"That does sound like him. Why can't he travel under his own name, like any normal person?"

"Hasn't he said something about not wanting to stay in any place Adam Pierson could afford?"

"Numerous times, usually while he's inviting himself to my couch. What do you think happened to him? It had to be something pretty big, or he would have packed his things," Duncan said, worried for his annoying friend's welfare.

"I don't know. Kidnapping? An old enemy chasing him? There could be any number of reasons." 

"Kidnapping? A lot of people think 'Adam Pierson' was my student. It could be another Immortal trying to get to me," MacLeod said with guilt. He had too much experience with enemies striking at him through his friends.

"This happened nearly five months ago. If it had anything to do with you, you'd have heard about it by now. Adam can make enemies all by himself," Joe admonished the Highlander.

"I suppose that's true," Duncan answered a little sheepishly, realizing that yet again he was taking on responsibility for things beyond his control. That particular habit was one his friends were valiantly trying to break him of, but with little success. "Whatever happened, the only clues left behind are sure to be in Switzerland. I think I should cancel my flight and go to Switzerland instead."

"I'll meet you there in a few days."

"You don't have to come. I thought you were having staff problems at the bar."

"All sorted out. Even if they weren't, I could hardly let you investigate a mysterious disappearance without me. What if you suddenly disappeared too? Watcher Headquarters would never forgive me. Besides, two heads are better than one."

"Right, see you there then," Duncan said, grateful to have some help getting to the bottom of things. He'd run into a few mysteries in need of solving over the course of four centuries, but expert detective he wasn't.

"See you in a few days." 

* * * * * *

Back in Middle-earth...

A couple days after capturing Sekin, Legolas and Gimli arrived in Minas Tirith with the morning tide, bringing with them their securely tied and gagged cargo. Sekin was confined to a special cell which was warded against magic. It was located in the little used dungeon underneath the citadel. After safely depositing their prisoner, Gimli and Legolas went to see the king in his private study.

"You're certain this Sekin was the one who arranged the attempts on my life?" Aragorn asked.

"Positive. He admitted using witchcraft on the concrete supports and to hiring those men," Legolas said.

"I'm surprised he was so forthcoming," Aragorn replied. "Did he also explain why he did it?"

"That he wouldn't budge on. Couldn't get a peep out of him on that score," Gimli said with some chagrin. "After he knew there was no wiggling out of the charges, he volunteered all the details of how he arranged it all, but wouldn't say a word about his motives."

"Why wouldn't he say?" the king mused aloud. "Could he be protecting someone?"

"That is a possibility," Legolas said skeptically, "but it would be very... unusual. Normally, practitioners of death magic are only loyal to themselves. I can't imagine Sekin, a man who has delved far into the darkness in search of power, not trying to bargain for his life by turning on his associates."

"If he isn't protecting someone, why not explain, have his sentence changed from hanging to beheading?" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps, he's protecting himself from one of his associates," suggested a voice from the other side of the room. "He knows you're going to kill him, but no more than that. Perhaps if he says the wrong thing, someone else will do something a lot worse to him," Methos explained himself as he approached the three friends.

"That explanation does seem the most likely one," Legolas agreed. "There are things worse than death and I'm sure a witch would be familiar with more than one of them."

"He did flinch a little when the subject of why he did what he did came up," Gimli added.

"So he's more afraid of whomever he's protecting than he is of us," Aragorn summed up the situation. "I assume this person is the one actually behind the attacks. Now the question is: How do we persuade this Sekin to tell us what he knows?"

"That's easy. We just have to make him more afraid of us than he is of the other guy," Methos said flippantly.

"Easier said than done. He knows he will be hung for treason and is unafraid," Aragorn said.

"Torture?" Gimli asked with some distaste. Dwarves usually avoided such dishonorable tactics, but their innate pragmatism didn't allow them to completely dismiss the possibility.

"No," Aragorn said with conviction. "I will not sink to taking up evil practices in the name of good and expediency."

"Of that I am glad," Legolas supported Aragorn's decision. "If you were a man of lesser principles, I could not call you friend."

"I don't relish the thought of torture myself," Gimli said a bit defensively.

Methos was quiet during this particular interchange, but his superior, patronizing-the-naive-children expression spoke volumes.

Taking in Methos's expression, Aragorn said pointedly, "Methos, do you have a suggestion to make?" Aragorn put stress upon the 'Methos,' emphasizing by his choice of name Methos's millennia of experience.

"Yes, actually I do," Methos replied conversationally. Then in his best teacher-with-dense-students voice he explained, "The reason Sekin isn't afraid of us is because he knows we're the good guys and therefore probably aren't going to torture him. All we have to do is convince him otherwise."

"But we aren't going to torture him," Gimli interrupted.

"Please, save all questions and comments till the end. I'm getting to that part," Methos continued. "The part of torture which makes it truly effective isn't the pain. It's the fear. That means we don't have to actually do anything to him, we only have to make him think we will."

"And how do we do that?" Legolas inquired.

"Well, we don't. He'd never believe an elf would stoop so low. Thinking that King Elessar, poster boy for honor and nobility, would countenance such a thing is equally ridiculous," said Methos.

"Poster boy?" Aragorn said in a slightly warning tone, implying that Methos had perhaps overstepped his bounds just a little.

"It's a compliment. It means you're the archetype, the role model, the person mothers hold up as an example to their sons," Methos answered smoothly.

"I see." Aragorn answered dryly, not buying Methos's explanation and suspecting he was being made into a figure of fun.

"If we can return to the matter at hand..." Gimli interjected. "If Legolas and Aragorn aren't going to scare Sekin, who is?"

"I am and perhaps you as well," Methos said brightly. "He won't believe Aragorn'd torture him, but he might believe that the king's more pragmatic friends would take it upon themselves to do it for him."

"He must know I would put a stop to any such action," Aragorn pointed out.

"But, you can't stop what you don't know about," Methos argued.

"Are you certain you can maintain such a deception?" Legolas asked.

"Positive," Methos confirmed.

"I suppose there is nothing to lose. Try your bluff," Aragorn ordered.

"Gimli, are you in?" Methos asked the dwarf.

Gimli paused, considering, "It sounds like fun, but I'm unused to deception. I will leave it to the master," Gimli said with a nod, getting in a minor dig at 'Adam' for keeping his immortality a secret. Gimli knew how to hold a grudge, even a minor one.

"When will you begin?" Aragorn asked.

"No time like the present," Methos said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I'll need a few supplies though."

"Supplies?" Legolas asked.

"An actor needs props," Methos said with a wicked grin.

* * * * * * 

"The scene should play out like this," Methos said to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas as they went down to the dungeons. "First, the four of us pay Sekin a visit. You three bluster, threaten unconvincingly, that sort of thing. Tell him you're going to hang him. Then, after he refuses to talk, I suggest we give him some time alone to think about it. A few minutes later, or whenever those guards get here with my props, I come back alone saying that what the king doesn't know won't hurt me and start preparations for torture."

"And you think that will be enough to make him talk?" Legolas asked.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing. If he's half as spineless as your description makes him out to be, we'll know everything before lunch time," Methos reassured.

"Let us get on with it then. The sooner this is over, the better I'll feel," Aragorn said, impatient to finally end the matter.

Methos unlocked the cell door, using the key provided by the guard, swung it open and motioned the others inside, "After you gentlemen."

Sekin looked a pitiful figure, his elaborate robes soiled and torn from his captivity. He was also looking the picture of despair, his head cradled in his hands and chains dangling down from the shackles on his wrists. 

"I assume you've had a chance to discover the properties of this cell. I've been told that having a spell blocked can be a rather painful experience," said Aragorn.

"You were told right Your Majesty," Sekin said bitterly, looking up from his chains to reveal a heavily lined face.

Legolas gasped in surprise and said accusingly, "You were using magic to stay young." He then turned to his friends and explained, "That is one of the worst of the forbidden magics. Trying to undo the will of Illuvatar is the first and greatest evil."

"Why should men care about Illuvatar? He only cared for the elves. They get to stay young and beautiful forever. And what do we get? We get disease, and old age, and death. I was only looking out for myself, taking what I deserved," Sekin vehemently proclaimed.

"The penalty for seeking immortality is death," Aragorn said darkly. "The mistakes which lead to the destruction of Numenor are not to be repeated."

Sekin cackled at this piece of information. "Kill me twice then. Once for treason and again for seeking immortality. But, then again, if you kill me, you'll never know why I tried to kill you or if I'm leaving someone who'll complete the task behind," he said mockingly.

"I wouldn't be so sure of my safety if I were you," Legolas threatened hand on the hilt of his knife. Pushed too far by Sekin's perversity, Legolas took a step toward the prisoner, murder in his eyes.

"Wait!" Gimli said, laying a restraining hand upon his friend's arm. "He's only trying to provoke us and cheat the hangman."

Methos, feeling he'd better step in before the situation got too out of control, said in a reasonable tone of voice, "Your Majesty, perhaps we should leave the prisoner alone for awhile to contemplate his situation. He should be ready to talk once the reality of it starts to set in."

"But..." the elf protested, still too offended by the latest revelation of Sekin's wrong doings to want to stick to the plan.

Methos shot Gimli a pleading look and the dwarf decided on the best tactic for getting the elf out of the room. "A truly just punishment it is, letting him rot down here," said Gimli.

"What?" Legolas asked, startled out of his fixation.

"He tried to stop aging and now he sits chained to that wall, unable to do anything while his spells crumble and he gets very old, very swiftly. It seems just," Gimli explained.

"Yes, it is very appropriate," Legolas agreed.

"Let us follow Adam's suggestion then, and leave our guest alone to ponder his old age," Aragorn said.

Then the four exited the cell and locked the door behind them.

"As soon as Torin and Boric arrive we'll get started with phase two of the plan," Methos said with some anticipation. "The first part got a little off track, but played beautifully." Just then two burly guards rounded the corner carrying a large wooden table. "Here they are now," Methos said to no one in particular.

The guards approached and set the table down in front of Methos. "I hope this table'll do sir, it's the closest we could find to what you asked for," the slightly older of the two guards said.

Methos inspected the table closely. "This will work perfectly. An oval table will do just as well as a rectangular one. We're just going to strap the prisoner to it. How did you do with the rest of the props?"

"I went down to the healers and borrowed a set of the restraints they use for amputations," said the man as he pulled a tangle of leather straps from the front of his tunic and handed them to Methos.

"These are perfect," Methos said after examining the restraints.

"Torin got a set of carving knives from a carpenter. Show'em Torin," the older man continued. Torin pulled out a roll of cloth he had stuffed in his belt and flung it open. Inside was an array of knives and other tools which appeared to be likely torture implements.

"Those should do nicely," Methos said. "But what about the brazier?"

"We left that right around the corner. We couldn't carry it and the table at the same time and I thought the fewer who knew about this the better so couldn't ask a servant to help," Boric explained.

"Good thinking. I'm sure it is just what I asked for," Methos said generously, pleased with Boric and Torin's handy work thus far.

Aragorn seeing all this and starting to feel slightly uneasy asked, "Could you be a little more specific about what 'this' is? You did promise to stop short of actually torturing Sekin."

"Not to worry. Sekin will tell us all he know without me putting a scratch on him. But, I can't bluff with just a speech. He'll be expecting that. I have to set the stage a bit, get all the proper equipment together including my menacing henchmen," Methos explained, motioning at Torin and Boric.

"These are menacing henchmen?" Gimli asked incredulously, taking in the guards' open, honest faces and friendly, helpful demeanors, .

"Don't underestimate Boric and Torin, sons of master thespian Koric. They've been acting since they were in diapers and have been kind enough to assist with our little charade," Methos explained.

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn still looked a little skeptical. "Perhaps a demonstration, my lords," Boric suggested.

"Excellent idea," Methos said. "You two need to be in character soon anyway."

"Right then," Boric said in agreement. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and before their very eyes transformed into another man. Without saying a word, the competent, yet unassuming man disappeared to be replaced by someone slightly shifty and more than a little dangerous.

"Remarkable," Legolas said. "I don't think I would have recognized Master Boric as the same person if I had not seen the transformation myself."

"I'm beginning to think this might actually work," Aragorn added. "There are spy holes along the other side of the cell. We'll watch the show from there and let you get on with your work."

Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn turned down an adjacent hall and out of sight. As the three walked away, Methos could be heard saying to his assistants, "Let's go over this one more time before we begin..."


	3. Part 3

ROG on Vacation--Part 3 ****

CHAPTER 9

Methos walked into the cell, carefully assessing the dimensions, trying to decide what to put where. He carefully kept his manner very casual, as if he were sizing up a window for new drapery.

Sekin, a little unsettled by Methos's strange behavior, looked nervously about the room, trying to figure out what the other man was so interested in. "I'm still not going to tell you anything," Sekin said with false bravado, trying to keep his courage up. 

'I have him on the run already,' Methos thought to himself. 'Shifty little weasels. They're all alike. Know the rules of the game, think they hold all the cards and they're fearless. Change the rules a little and they fall all to pieces. But, he's clever. I'll have to be careful not to overplay my hand.' Methos, never actually looking at Sekin in order to emphasize the man's unimportance, said matter of factly, "I didn't think you would, yet. But, you will... eventually. We have all afternoon."

"You're bluffing," Sekin said loudly, not entirely sure of that fact. The 5,000-year-old Immortal didn't look like a man who was bluffing.

Just then, there was a knock on the cell door. Methos opened the door and waved the two guards carrying a large table inside. 'Right on cue,' Methos thought. "Better put that over there against the wall," he said pointing at the wall opposite Sekin's wooden pallet. "Did you bring the shackles?" he asked the men.

"I couldn't get manacles without raising suspicions. I brought some leather cuffs instead. They should do well enough for a runt like that," Torin said, nodding over at Sekin, as his brother and him finished setting the table in place.

"As long as he's held firmly in place, I don't suppose it matters. I just don't want him squirming too much." Methos shot an assessing glance over at the increasingly nervous Sekin. "Strap him down. Don't remove the chains. I don't know if they have anything to do with binding his magic, and I don't care to find out." 

Torin and Boric untangled the leather restraints Boric had bundled inside his tunic and started toward Sekin. "Wait! Wait!" Sekin shouted shrilly. "The king ordered that I not be tortured. You can't do this!"

"Yes, that was very kind of him, but not very practical. Fortunately for the kingdom of Gondor, the king isn't here right now and what he doesn't know won't hurt me," Methos explained in a good natured manner as Sekin was being dragged toward the table.

"Stop! You can't do this!" Sekin shouted in panic, as the guards strapped him to the table, spread eagle.

"Make sure to tie him tightly. I don't want him working a hand free once we've begun," Methos instructed the brothers.

"Yes sir," Boric answered pulling an ankle strap tighter and causing Sekin to wince in pain.

"Stop it. Let me up, now!" Sekin demanded.

"You can stop this anytime you want. All you have to do is tell me who hired you," Methos replied in a reasonable tone.

"I... I..." Sekin started then trailed off a calculating look entering his eyes. "You almost had me there. I almost believed your bluff and caused myself more pain than anything you'd do to me. You're good, but not good enough," Sekin said with a sneer. The fear hadn't completely left his eyes, but Sekin was definitely feeling more confident than he was just a moment before.

'Damn. I moved too soon. It's going to take a lot to recover the ground I just lost.' Methos berated himself. Then he gave Sekin his best 'Death' grin and said, "I was hoping you'd say that. There's something I've been wanting to try for years, but an opportunity has never presented itself, until now." Dropping back to a more normal expression, Methos turned to the guards and asked, "What have you brought me?"

"Here, my lord," Boric said, giving Methos the roll of carpenter's tools.

Methos unrolled the tools on the table Sekin was strapped to. He stared at them a minute, a look of consternation on his face and said, "What are these? I asked for surgeon's knives not workman's tools."

"I'm sorry sir," Torin said obsequiously. "I couldn't find any doctoring kits for sale. Carpenter's tools were the best I could do."

Methos leveled a displeased look at Torin, and Torin flinched back in fear. "I suppose these will have to do," Methos said with some irritation. "Did you at least find a brazier like I asked for?" he continued, clearly put out with all the substitutions.

"Yes my lord. It's right out side. We'll fetch it in and get the fire started, right away sir," Boric said.

"Very well," Methos replied in dismissal.

The two guards quickly exited the room with looks of relief, grateful their master had not taken issue with the substitutions. Or at least that's the way the situation looked from the outside. 'A remarkable job those two are doing,' Methos congratulated himself on his choice of assistants. 'I almost believe they are scared of me.'

Methos started to rearrange the carpentry tools which were laid out beside Sekin. Occasionally, he would pick one up and examine it in the slanting rays of light coming in through a small grate near the ceiling. Then he began to sharpen one of the smaller carving knives. "Good servants are hard to find," he said casually. "I ask for a very specific item and they bring me an inferior substitute. I suppose I must contrive," he added with a sigh of resignation sounding more like a lord complaining about having to eat dessert with a salad fork than a man bent on torture.

Boric and Torin returned with the brazier and placed it at the foot of the table. Torin then took out a tender box and lit the coals inside. "Will there be anything else sir?" Boric asked when the task was done.

"No, that will be all for now. But, stay close, in case I need something." Methos ordered. Boric and Torin left the cell closing the door behind them.

Once again Sekin was growing nervous. He was sweating profusely. 'Good, I have him off balance again,' Methos observed to himself. 'I need to keep him involved.'

"You've suddenly grown quiet," Methos said to Sekin. "No questions, comments, or snide remarks to make?"

Sekin swallowed nervously then said in a slightly shaky voice, "Actually, I do have a question. What is it you always wanted to try, exactly?"

"Excellent question," Methos said encouragingly, in the same manner he'd use with a bright student in one of his lectures. Then he paused and with a thoughtful look said, "But, I'm not sure I should tell you, then I might not get to try it after all."

Sekin paled in fear. He was starting to think his opponent was a mad man, which would mean very bad things for Sekin. Mad men are unpredictable and if Methos were such a one, Sekin had very little hope of gaining the upper hand. 

Methos taking in Sekin's appearance was very encouraged. 'It won't take much more to nudge him right over the edge,' Methos thought. "I did invite the question myself, I suppose it's only fair that I answer," Methos said. "What I plan for this afternoon is an experiment."

"An experiment?" Sekin said with growing trepidation.

"Yes, an experiment," Methos answered. 'Careful, carefully now. I won't get another chance if I screw this up,' Methos thought, deciding that reliance upon the truth would be the safest path to success. "You see my brother, Caspian, always said skinning people whilst keeping them alive was the mark of a true artist. Now I always thought fire would be the best way to do that, cauterizing the wounds to prevent the subject from bleeding to death. But, Caspian insisted that fire would only slow the operation and the subject's heart would give out before he was through. Caspian had far more experience at this sort of thing than I ever will, that much I'll grant you. But, he was also insane. He tormented the helpless simply for the joy of inflicting pain, not the best frame of mind for making rational observations. I, on the other hand, am only interested in furthering my knowledge of human endurance." As he gave this speech he was busily cleaning blades and placing things in the fire to heat. "Now then. I believe we're ready to begin."

"I don't believe you. You're making that up," Sekin said, hoping what he said was true, but not really believing it.

"Perhaps I am," Methos said, cutting away Sekin's clothes. "You'll find out in a minute, won't you?"

Sekin's gaze darted around the room, as he tried to find a way out of his predicament. Triumph momentarily flashed in his eyes as he got an idea. "How are you going to explain my skinned corpse to your king?" Sekin asked.

"Did you know that if you were to try a high level spell in here the backlash might actually burn you to ash?" Methos countered.

Sekin's eyes widened as he became increasingly sure his captor was really going to go through with it. "You don't actually mean to go through with this. What if the king were to find out about this?"

"Then things would go very badly for me, which is why I'm making sure the king doesn't find out," Methos answered as he cut away the last of Sekin's clothes, leaving Sekin's unsightly wrinkled, goose-pimpled, flesh open to the chill air. "Now what am I forgetting?" Methos muttered to himself. "Of course, an apron." Then he went to the door, stepped outside, and asked Boric to fetch him an apron.

"Sorry for the delay," Methos said politely. "I forgot to ask for an apron. My man shouldn't be but a minute fetching one from the kitchen."

"An apron?" Sekin said.

"Yes, an apron. Blood splatters you know."

Sekin stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed with fear, and thought over his situation. 'He's cracking. I knew the kindly professor routine would get to him. No late night creature features here. He has no idea what to make of a mad scientist,' Methos thought gleefully.

Boric returned with the apron, then left the room. Methos tied on the apron and said, "Finally, down to business," He picked up the small knife he'd just sharpened and barely touched it to the skin over Sekin's collarbone.

"Wait! I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything," Sekin gasped out, afraid of what Methos was going to do.

"You will?" Methos said putting the knife down and sounding a touch disappointed.

"Yes, I'll tell you all of it, on one condition. Immediately after I tell you, you have to kill me and burn my body to ash this very night."

"I am the one with the knife here. You don't get to set conditions," Methos reminded, giving the impression that he really didn't want to give up this "opportunity." 'I've hooked him. Now I just have to reel him in before he wriggles free of our little deception,' he thought.

"It's the only way I'm telling you anything. I'd rather be skinned than risk what might happen to my still mostly intact corpse. You have to swear to me that my body will be burned to ash or your precious king will never know who wants him dead until too late," Sekin said nastily, getting one last dig in before his inevitable death.

Methos paused, as if considering Sekin's offer very carefully. In fact, there was no real question of whether or not he was going to take it. Then after what Methos deemed an acceptable period time to keep up the charade had passed, he said, "I suppose that's an acceptable condition. I swear to kill you quickly and burn the corpse tonight. But, why?" Methos said honestly curious about the reason for Sekin's request.

"My master. He is a necromancer. If you don't completely destroy my body he will resurrect me and make me his slave, for eternity."

"Ah, I see. Now tell me, who is this master of yours?" Methos asked.

"I don't know. I never saw his face."

"Now, Sekin. I thought you were going to cooperate," Methos said menacingly, arching one eyebrow.

"I am. I'll tell you everything I know, but I truly don't know who he is," Sekin said pleadingly.

"Very well. Start from the beginning. Tell me how you met this necromancer, and don't leave anything out," Methos ordered. Then he walked over to the wooden pallet, and took a seat, settling in to listen.

"It started a few years ago. I was looking for some supplies for the youth spell. My usual supplier couldn't get me everything I needed, but agreed to ask around for me. Then late one night, a man cloaked and hooded came to my door. He said he'd heard that I was looking for some items and that he had them available for sale." 

"What sort of items?" Methos interrupted.

"Eyes and tongue of a maiden," said Sekin.

"Go on," Methos said evenly, keeping his disgust carefully concealed in order to preserve the charade.

"I bought them. The same thing happened repeatedly for more than a year. I'd ask my normal man for some ingredient or other. He wouldn't have it. Then a few days or weeks later the man would show up and sell it too me.

"Then one night he showed up and I hadn't asked for anything. He told me to kill the king. I said I wouldn't do it. It was too dangerous and there was nothing in it for me. He said it was a lot more dangerous if I didn't do it. He'd turn me in as a witch, if he didn't just add me to his 'collection.' And, if I did do it I could get elven eyes for my spell, because he wanted to add the Queen to his 'collection' and I could have the leftover bits. So I agreed to kill the king," Sekin finished explaining.

"His 'collection,' what's that?" Methos asked somewhat puzzled.

"That's how I knew he was a necromancer. When they reanimate the dead, they cut out the eyes to separate the soul from the body. Otherwise it will have a will of its own when it comes back," Sekin explained.

"Why would he send you after the king, if he only wanted Lady Arwen?" Methos asked.

"That was the strange part. He said Arwen would never love him if the king was still around. But, necromancers are all a bit mad."

"And witches are the epitome of sanity," Methos said dryly. "Is there anything else you can tell me about this necromancer? Anything at all?"

Sekin thought for a minute, then said, "He stuttered."

Methos stood and started pacing the room. "The mercenaries. Did you hire them yourself?"

"No, I couldn't afford them. The necromancer put them at my disposal when I first agreed to help him."

"Do you trade with the east?" 

"No, only nobles have the wealth necessary to fund such long expeditions."

"It all fits together then. A member of the court, with eastern connections, a fixation on the queen, and a stutter. It has to be Landon," Methos said, thinking aloud.

"You know who it is now, you'll not forget out bargain," Sekin reminded, nervously.

"I won't," Methos said picking a knife up from the table and circling around to Sekin's head. "Are you ready?"

Sekin swallowed nervously and tried to resign himself to his fate. From the time he was captured he knew that a quick, permanent, death was the best he could hope for, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier to accept. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gave a jerky nod.

Methos swiftly and professionally ran his blade across Sekin's throat. The witch was dead in seconds.

* * * * * *

Aragorn, followed closely by Legolas and Gimli, rushed in the door. "You swore to me that this was only a deception," Aragorn said with righteous anger.

"It was. I didn't torture him," Methos protested.

"But, you killed him," Aragorn replied shocked at Methos's behavior.

"It was what he wanted. Besides, he was just going to be executed anyway," Methos defended his actions.

Legolas laid a restraining hand upon Aragorn's shoulder and said, "I too am much perturbed by Adam's cold blooded slaughter of a helpless man, but he does have a point. He did agree to kill Sekin, if Sekin told him what he could. He couldn't honorably not kill Sekin."

"That is true, but Adam still overstepped the bounds set for him," Aragorn relented a bit, his temper cooled by reason.

"I offer an abject apology. I was over zealous in the execution of the task set before me. What can I do to make amends?" Methos said sincerely, executing a courtly bow, the likes of which had not been seen since the first time he sparred with Aragorn and the two men got to be friends.

"You can see to the second half of Sekin's request," said Aragorn.

"Of course, my lord. I will see to it immediately."

"You will see to it personally," Aragorn added.

"Personally?" Methos asked, regretting his offer to make amends.

"Yes, personally. And you had best start soon. A fresh corpse can take most of the day to burn to ash."

"Yes, your Majesty," Methos said not liking this turn of events at all. Minding a burning corpse was going to be an extremely unpleasant task.

Gimli, who'd remained silent throughout this interchange, asked, "Where's Landon?"

All the color drained from Aragorn's face. "He was bringing Arwen silk samples from his latest shipment today."

"Surely, nothing can happen to her here. All of her ladies will be around," Gimli said

"But, they aren't, they went on a picnic. Arwen's alone," Aragorn said as if in a trance.

The four men looked at one another, then as one they ran from the cell and up the dungeon stairs.

* * * * * *

Legolas was the first to reach the queen's solar. The other three arrived shortly afterwards, Aragorn and Methos out of breath from running across the palace. There they were greeted by an unsettling sight.

Arwen was sitting on the floor, her skirts spread around her, pretty as a picture. Pretty, until one noticed the blood spreading from Landon's cooling body and soaking her skirt. Arwen was sitting there, still as a statue, staring at the jeweled handle of dagger embedded in Landon's chest.

"Arwen?" Aragorn said, both relieved to find her alive and worried by the lost look in her eyes.

Arwen, only then noticing the presence of others in the room, jumped up and ran to her husband, tears running down her face. Aragorn held her tightly to him and whispered reassuringly to her, "It's over now. He's gone."

Arwen, not knowing of the recent discoveries in the dungeon, tried to explain. "He was confused. He thought I'd love him if he could take me away from here. I didn't want to kill him, but he went mad when I rejected him. I had no choice. If only I'd realized before how obsessed he was... This could have been prevented. He didn't have to die," she said in a broken voice.

Aragorn was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to tell Arwen to make her feel better. Would knowing of Landon's evil make things better or worse? Methos, seeing Aragorn's situation, interjected, "Landon's the one behind the attempts on Aragorn's life."

That got Arwen's attention right away. "Landon tried to kill you?" Arwen asked of her husband, swiftly pulling out of her personal grief and guilt.

"Yes, he was the man. He was also practicing necromancy," Aragorn confirmed.

Arwen's eyes narrowed in anger, the knowledge of Landon's evil deeds quickly dissipating the sympathy she felt for him. She could forgive his obsession with her, but she couldn't forgive a threat to the life of her beloved husband. "How could I have been so foolish? I never suspected he was anything more than a harmless merchant."

"None of us suspected him, my lady," said Legolas.

"Come, I'll walk you back to our quarters so that you can bathe and change," Aragorn said to his wife.

"Yes, I want to wash away this blood as soon as possible. It is beginning to itch." Arwen agreed, dismissing Landon from her mind.

"Adam, I believe you have a task to see to?" Aragorn reminded, then the royal couple swept out of the room.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do that, Landon being dead and not in a zombie making position," Methos said.

"A promise is a promise," Gimli reminded.

"I had better get started then," Methos grumbled unhappily. Then he left to collect Sekin's body from the dungeon.

"We should see that Landon is properly disposed of as well," Legolas said. "I vaguely recall a story about a necromancer who could bring himself back from the dead."

Gimli winced and said, "I suppose you're right. I certainly don't want to take any chances on him coming back."

Everyone set about their assigned tasks for tying up the loose ends. The threat to the king's life was officially ended. All that was left was cleaning up the mess.

****

CHAPTER 10

Landon and his lackey were dead. Their bodies were burnt to ash and scattered at sea so that they could never return. Landon's 'collection' was found at his estate, once again lifeless, the animating magic having drained away upon the necromancer's death. The mutilated bodies of several once beautiful girls were buried with all the appropriate honors. All the loose ends were tied tightly, and things could finally return to normal in Gondor's royal city.

Gimli and Legolas made plans for their long postponed departures. Legolas intended to spend some time in the elvish settlement he had begun in Ithilien. Gimli wanted to make a return trip to the Glittering Caves. Now that the immediate threat had past, they felt safe in separating for a time. 

Methos was also considering a trip. The way home was still unclear, but now there was time to investigate. He'd enjoyed his time in Middle-earth but was missing his friends at home. He'd grown quite fond of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn in the year he'd known them, but there were too many things he couldn't share with them. He'd gotten used to being around people who knew the whole story and accepted him anyway. Methos missed that. The recent tension, arising from what he did to Sekin, served to underscore the matter.

The evening after the Landon incident was wrapped up, Methos made mention of his desire to find the way home. Legolas and Gimli, conscious of their previous offer to help, suggested the three of them ride out to the place Methos had been found and search for markings. Methos agreed, and they decided to set out the next morning.

* * * * * *

The three set out early that morning but not at the crack of dawn. This expedition wasn't an urgent one and the clearing was only a couple hours away. They rode throughout the morning in an uncomfortable silence. Legolas kept giving Methos contemplative looks, as if trying to figure the Immortal out. Methos noticed the looks but wasn't planning on saying anything unless he had to. Gimli noticed this interchange but didn't take part.

They arrived at the site, mid-morning. "Finally," Gimli said, relieved to be off the horse.

Methos looked around the clearing and said, somewhat disappointedly, "I don't see any markers."

"Nor do I," said the elf, "but there is something here. This clearing is too perfectly circular to be natural."

"Now that you mention it, that is a bit odd," Methos replied, a little more encouraged.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Gimli asked.

"I'm not sure. On the other end, there was a circle of short round stones covered in carvings, surrounding a single center stone. I don't know what form the circle will take here. However, the shape of the clearing indicates there is one of some sort. We'll just have to look around."

"If there was a center stone there, shouldn't there be a center marker here?" Legolas asked.

"There's a thought," Methos said walking to the very center of the clearing. He kneeled down to inspect the ground at the center more closely. "Well, there's no stone, but come see if this looks odd to you," he said to his companions.

Legolas and Gimli went to see what Methos was referring to. It was a roughly two-foot wide, perfectly circular, depression. "That does look a bit odd," Gimli agreed. "I'd be interested to see what was under there, causing such an odd lay of land."

"As would I," Methos added. "I'll go fetch a shovel," he said, heading back to where their horses were tethered. They'd brought a pack horse along, laden with a variety of useful equipment.

When Methos returned, Gimli took the shovel from him and bent to work. Starting at the edge of the depression, Gimli pushed the blade of the shovel into the soft soil. When he had only pushed the blade in half way, he hit stone. "There's something down there," he said. "I believe we've found what we were looking for."

Gimli continued digging. Legolas and Methos retrieved shovels from the pack horse and started to help. The circle was swiftly cleared of dirt. Underneath, they found a hollow stone hemisphere covered in carvings. Methos knelt to give their find a closer inspection, brushing the carvings free of dirt, "This is most definitely it. Once I can read these marks I should be able to return home... I think."

"They are not in a language of your world?" Legolas asked. "I do not recognize the characters."

"I'd be surprised if you did. The letters are Greek, from my world, but the language isn't. It's probably a language of Middle-earth. That would match what I found on the other stones, a combination of Middle-earth's and my earth's languages," Methos explained.

"You can read some of this then?" Gimli asked.

"Not exactly. I can sound it out, but it all looks like gibberish to me. 'Sayerkee kawen...'" Methos tried reading a few lines.

Legolas, looking thoughtful, said, "It might be Quenya. That first part sounded a little like high elvish."

"That seems a likely possibility. Actually, I'm surprised it sounds like anything recognizable. I'm probably butchering the pronunciation. The Greek alphabet doesn't appear to be the best suited to whichever language this is. There are letter combinations here which would never be used in Greek."

"But you can translate it, given enough time?" Gimli asked.

"Yes, given enough time." Methos shrugged. "Maybe we should look around for the other markers?"

Gimli nodded his assent and gave out the assignments, the dwarf was accustomed to organizing work crews, "Methos, you start on that side," he said pointing across the circle. "Legolas and I will begin closer to the road." 

The three worked the rest of the morning, and by noon a ring of six shallow stone depressions had been uncovered. At that point they decided to stop for a meal. They would start making notes of their discovery, for later study, after a rest.

Once the mid-day meal was unpacked and the three settled in to eat it, the uncomfortable silence of the morning descended again. The elf returned to giving the Immortal speculative glances. The Immortal returned to intentionally not answering the questions he knew the elf had in mind. The dwarf took the situation in without comment. The meal went on and the situation got increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, Gimli, not being able to stand it anymore, asked, "Exactly how much of what you told Sekin was truth and how much deception?"

"Well... I can honestly say I've never wanted to skin a man alive for any reason," Methos replied flippantly, trying to keep the conversation light.

Legolas, the ice broken by his blunt friend, then asked, "The things you said about your brother? Was that also a fiction?"

"Unfortunately, not. Caspian really was that bad and worse," Methos answered honestly, but purposely not telling his friends what they truly wanted to know.

"Worse?" Gimli asked, not knowing what could be worse than skinning alive.

"Children," Methos explained simply.

Legolas blanched in horror. He knew of worse things done by the minions of Sauron, but those were done by creatures of darkness. This was a man, one closely related to a man he called friend. That made the acts more horrific somehow. "What kind of monster was he?" Legolas asked, appalled.

Methos shrugged, not certain how to answer the question, and said, "The average kind? He was insane and liked to torment others. He was just better at it than most. Had a lot more practice."

"This doesn't make sense. You said Immortals didn't have families. How could he be your brother?" Gimli interjected.

Methos winced and said, "I was afraid you'd notice that." Then sighing in resignation he began to explain, some of it, "We weren't brothers by blood, but we rode together, as brothers, for a thousand years."

"You chose brotherhood with a madman and a monster?" Legolas said surprised.

"It wasn't as simple as that. If it were only Caspian, I would have killed him soon after we met. I never liked him. But, there were two others to be considered, Kronos and Silas."

"And these men somehow made Caspian less a monster?" Legolas said skeptically.

Methos snorted in grim humor at that suggestion, "Kronos might have made Caspian better, but only by comparison. No, Silas and Kronos only made the situation worse, not better. Where I come from we have a saying, 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' and I couldn't beat Kronos. My choices were helping Kronos by joining his 'brotherhood' thus becoming one of the most powerful men on the continent or dying because he would have killed me."

"You forsook honor and allied yourself with evil merely to preserve your own life?" Gimli said with disgust.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Methos answered, unapologetic.

"And you had to maintain this deception for a thousand years?" Legolas added, skeptically.

"Well... not exactly. I wasn't overly enthused about the plan to start with, but I have to admit to warming up to it over time. Individually, we were formidable. Together we were unstoppable. That kind of power is seductive. But, it was all a long time ago. Things change in three thousand years. I changed," Methos explained, not bothering to sugar coat it any, but not volunteering any details.

"So you're not the same person who... who did what exactly?" Gimli asked, suddenly realizing how vague Methos had been.

"Oh, the usual," Methos answered, significantly downplaying his past activities, "Looting, pillaging, demanding tribute, that sort of thing. Times were primitive. Steel hadn't even been invented yet. The more sophisticated evils were beyond us."

"Common banditry," Gimli said with a snort of derision.

"Basically, except we couldn't be killed," Methos agreed, really not wanting to bring up the bit about being an evil of legend.

Legolas then said, "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"It never came up. And, there seemed no reason to bring it up. I don't usually tell everyone I meet how I, once upon a time, was evil but have now mended my wicked ways."

Legolas gave Methos a hard look and said, "No, there is more to it than that. What aren't you telling us?"

"What else could there be?" Methos asked innocently. "I did some bad things to save my own neck and now I don't anymore. That's about it."

"There is still something you are holding back," Legolas insisted.

"You're really not going to let this go are you?" Methos said irritated at the elf's persistence.

Legolas only looked at Methos. He was wearing an expression which reminded Methos of the elf's often overlooked status as a prince. Prince Legolas was not accustomed to receiving evasive answers.

Methos finally gave up the struggle and decided to come clean. "I have explained most of it. I didn't tell you any lies. There's just a little bit I left out," he said holding up two fingers less than an inch apart.

"Yes?" Legolas signaled Methos to continue.

"In my world, there's a legend. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There are four riders, War, Strife, Famine, and Death who are said to bring the end of the world. I was Death," Methos said in an off hand manner, thinking that the more weight he gave to the matter the more weight they would attach to it.

"Why keep that part so closely guarded a secret?" Gimli asked, confused.

"It is a question of magnitude. What would be so fearful that the memory would remain thousands of years later?" Legolas asked rhetorically, the significance of what Methos told them slowly sinking in.

"I need to start documenting the carvings, if I plan to finish today," Methos said, abruptly changing the subject. "Since the lettering is Greek, I should be fine on my own. Why don't you two head back to the citadel?" Methos suggested, thinking to give Legolas and Gimli time to digest what they had just learned. "I'll follow, later."

"I suppose we could do that," Gimli said, "but I'm not sure we should."

Methos rolled his eyes at the dwarf's new found suspicion of him. "I've been here for over a year. If I were going to run off and commit evil acts I would have done it by now. I will simply make some notes and return to Minas Tirith before dinnertime. I might have been an evil bastard in ages past, but I've been a harmless scholar for a lot longer. You haven't been completely mistaken about my character all this time."

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a meaningful glance, then Gimli said, "Right, we're leaving then. See you this evening," in a slightly warning, but not unfriendly, tone. Legolas and Gimli mounted their horse, Legolas nodded to Methos in farewell, then the two headed back toward the city. 

Methos, setting to work, muttered to himself, "What is wrong with me? I go millennia without telling a soul about my dark past, then in less than a decade I tell everyone I know. I shudder to think what Freud would make of this. I'm not dealing with unresolved issues. I'm not. All my issues are fully resolved."

* * * * * *

Legolas and Gimli returned to Minas Tirith and went in search of Aragorn, in order to fill him in on their latest discoveries regarding Methos. They found him in the Queen's solar. Aragorn tended to do a lot of his paperwork there. The sunny room was more pleasant than his study and the Queen's presence was an even greater attraction.

After relaying what Methos had told them to Aragorn and Arwen, the group fell silent.

"That does explain many things," Aragorn finally said.

"That it does. I always knew there was more to him than met the eye, and now we know," said Gimli with a shrug. Gimli didn't exactly have complete faith in Methos, but he never really did. Methos seemed a decent enough sort for now, and that's all that really mattered to the pragmatic dwarf.

"How can you be so accepting of his past? He was evil!" Legolas asked, surprised at his friends' reactions.

"But, he isn't evil now. He has been nothing but a friend to us in the time we have known him," Aragorn countered.

"I do not understand. How is it that a man can be evil at one time then later change his heart to good?" Legolas said, trying to understand Methos's side of it.

"I don't understand either, but nor can I understand what it would be like to live thousands of years while everyone I know dies around me. I'm not surprised though. All men have a dark side. Given enough time and temptation it would be difficult to not stray on to darker paths," Aragorn said meditatively.

"I believe it speaks in his favor that he was able to change his ways," Arwen interjected. "Once a man has committed himself to evil, there is usually no turning back. Returning to the dishonest, brutal, and easier methods of before is too much of a temptation."

"Then why did he change? And, how do we know he won't suddenly take up evil ways again?" Legolas asked, starting to see Methos's side of things, but still unsure.

"You would have to ask him that, but I would guess it was a woman," Arwen said shrewdly.

"A woman?" Gimli asked, surprised by the queen's answer.

"He keeps it hidden well, but Adam has some decidedly romantic tendencies. I believe a woman he loved could easily convince him to give up that life," Arwen elaborated. "And, I very much doubt he will change back to what he was. There doesn't seem to be any evil in him, not anymore."

"I agree with that assessment," Legolas said, "I have never believed him evil which is why I can't understand this. How can a man change so very much?"

"Perhaps it wasn't that great a change," Aragorn suggested. "Perhaps he did evil things, but was not himself evil."

"How could that be?" Gimli asked, not understanding what Aragorn meant. Was not an evil man simply a man who did evil?

"We weren't there and have no idea what happened," Aragorn explained. "There could have been good reason for him acting as he did."

"Justification for slaughtering innocent people?" Legolas asked.

"Not justification. There is no excuse for killing innocents. But, some mitigating factor which would explain why he did it. Even a good man can make mistakes," Aragorn pointed out.

"That is true." Legolas agreed. "We don't know the circumstances. Perhaps there is an explanation."

"And he does seem to feel some remorse," Gimli pointed out, "and didn't make excuses for himself. I don't think we're in any danger of him going back to those ways."

"I keep coming back to thoughts of his isolation. The pain and loneliness of an Immortal existence must be maddening. I can't bear the thought of watching all those I love age and die while I stay young forever. To know that he has experienced that over and over again, makes me think that perhaps he wasn't quite sane at the time. Also the proposal of a brotherhood which would not die had to be very tempting, even if its members weren't the ones he would have chosen," Arwen suggested, herself very sensitive to the issues involved in immortals associating with mortals, from personal experience.

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "it could have been madness. I haven't given very much thought to that particular aspect of his immortality. Perhaps, because it strikes a little too close to some of my own concerns," he said, looking around at his friends, all of whom would die some day.

"In any event, this new revelation about Adam's past in no way changes anything. He is the same man who saved my life a few weeks ago and assisted in catching an assassin. I don't know why he did the things he did, but I don't think it matters. All that is important is the man he is now. Aside from being occasionally irritating, his behavior has been above reproach," Aragorn said in support of his friend.

"It was good of him to help find the assassin. Gondor isn't his country and its fate is of no concern to him. A bunch of ancient history which took place on another world makes little difference to me," Gimli said in support of Methos. "But, it is nice to finally have all the pieces to the puzzle. All those little thing which didn't quite add up were irritating me."

"I suppose you are right," Legolas conceded. "His story just caught me off guard. I never would have thought a friend capable of such things, even sometime in the distant past."

"So, none of you plan on holding his past against him?" Arwen asked.

"Nothing to hold against him," Gimli said, "he never harmed me or mine."

"The past remains the past," Aragorn agreed.

"I too shall try to treat him the same as ever. Although this new knowledge will undoubtedly color our future relationship, I have no ill will against him," said Legolas.

"Excellent," Arwen said, pleased to have things her own way. "Evening approaches and I must dress for dinner," she added rising from her seat and putting away her embroidery.

The gentlemen rose also, as Arwen left the room. Then, they too went to their rooms in order to put on the appropriate dress for the evening meal.

****

CHAPTER 11

That evening Methos went about his normal routine at court, charming the ladies and entertaining the nobles with tales of earth, almost as if nothing had happened. Almost, but not quite; he did make it a point to avoid Gimli and Legolas. Realizing how much the revelations about his past disturbed the elf, Methos wanted to give Legolas some space. 'He's not so close-minded and judgmental as to never let it go, but that strong sense of justice is bound to get in the way, for a while at least.' Methos thought, considering the situation as he prepared for bed. 'Since Mac got over it, I'm sure Legolas will too and probably a lot faster. But, I think I shook up his worldview some and I better give it time to settle before trying to enter into polite dinner conversation with him. No sense asking for trouble.

'Gimli seemed to take it better than anyone I've ever met. He didn't bat an eyelash. I wonder why that is?' Methos mused on his situation. 'Perhaps it has something to do with the rather simplistic concept of good against evil they have here. That old enemy of theirs was just EVIL, no explanations added, and Aragorn and his friends are GOOD, simple as that, completely black and white and very tidy. Since he knows I'm one of the white hats I couldn't really have been one of the black hats. Then again it could be that Gimli didn't really grasp what I once was. It's not like they have the biblical imagery of the Four Horsemen engraved upon their collective psyches here, the way it is on earth.

'But Legolas, he understood some of it. He could imagine what it would take to make such a lasting impression. I can only be grateful he can't know how lasting an impression I, we, made. Then I don't think he'd ever let it go. Ah well, what's done is done. They're all grown ups who've seen a thing or two in their time, they'll come to terms with my past sooner or later. I just hope it's sooner. I've gotten too used to having friends in the past few years and don't fancy giving them up, even temporarily.'

Having sorted the situation out in his head, Methos went to bed and slept the sleep of the innocent. In 5,000 years of life the Immortal had learned the trick of sleeping anywhere, anytime, with or without a guilty conscience, and no matter how stressful the situation. A very useful trick considering his past experiences. If he weren't able to block all else out in favor of a restful night's sleep, Methos would never be able to rest, too many evil acts and painful memories.

* * * * * *

Early the next morning Legolas and Gimli were saying their farewells. Legolas was headed toward Ithilien and Gimli to the Glittering Caves. The two were going to miss each other, but there were things each had to see to, things which had gone undone while they'd stayed to protect Aragorn. Lordship carried many responsibilities, and the two were nothing if not responsible.

"I have been away from my kindred for too long," Legolas said. "Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but it is no match for the beauties of nature. I miss the musical sounds of my own language and the shade of trees over head."

"I know what you mean," Gimli replied. "This human city is growing tiresome and wearing upon my nerves. I'm looking forward to further exploration of my new home. We only saw the central branch when we were there last. I want to know what further wonders the side passages hold. But..."

"But, you hate to say farewell to the friends you have made," Legolas finished for him.

"That, and the journey. I've gotten too used to sharing a mount. I'm still not very fond of horses, but walking is going to seem very slow by comparison. Walking without companions to pass the time with shall seem even slower," Gimli grumbled.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to make the journey swifter," Legolas said with a grin. "But, the farewell won't be for very long."

"That's right," Gimli said, "Aragorn has his yearly gathering where the Lords of Gondor must account for their past year, but I thought we were exempt?"

"We are, but we should still attend if there's nothing pressing elsewhere. Our absence may cause ill will among the nobles," Legolas explained.

"Then by all means, we'll attend," said Gimli. "We shall meet again next spring then?"

"Next spring," Legolas agreed with a nod, grasping Gimli's arm in farewell. Then the elf mounted his horse and said, "Safe journey my friend."

"Safe journey," Gimli returned.

The elf circled his horse and rode away. Gimli took up the reins of his supply pony and began walking toward his beloved caves.

* * * * * *

Methos, who'd been asleep during their departure, went looking for the elf and the dwarf. He didn't think he'd given Legolas enough time yet, but wanted to test the waters anyway, in order to gauge the elf's state of mind. Instead, he found Arwen gathering flowers in the palace gardens.

"My lady," Methos greeted her with a bow. "I'm surprised to find you picking your own flowers. I thought that was one of the tasks performed by your platoon of gardeners."

"It is, normally," Arwen agreed not looking up from her work. "But, this small task makes a pleasant change from needle work and household accounts."

"I suppose it does at that. Have you seen Legolas or Gimli this morning, my lady?"

"Were you not told?" Arwen said turning away from her work and looking at Methos with confusion in her eyes. "They left this morning, returning to their own lands."

"Oh yes, they did mention leaving, a couple days ago. I'd forgotten," Methos said evenly, carefully concealing his true reaction. 'If they left without even saying goodbye they must be more upset than I thought they were.' he thought with some chagrin and a tinge of sadness.

Arwen, noticing Methos's mostly hidden dismay, said, "Legolas did leave you a note. They left very early and did not think you would appreciate being wakened, only for them to say their farewells. I left it on my desk; perhaps you should send a page to fetch it."

"I'll do that, my lady." Methos went back inside the palace, sent a page to the Queen's solar to fetch the note, and returned to Arwen. He sat down on one of the benches near the queen and studied her closely. She was the picture of serenity. She stood next to a climbing rose vine with a flower basket hooked over one arm. She'd carefully study the plant, cut a flower with the gardening shears she held, and place the flower in the basket. Each movement performed with the precision expected of a surgeon, rather than the more relaxed demeanor most would approach the task with. After a moment Methos broke the silence, "You know, don't you?" he asked shrewdly.

"Gimli and Legolas did share what you told them with Aragorn and me," Arwen replied carefully. "However, I don't claim to know anything. I don't know what you did, why you did it, or why you've changed."

"Are you asking me? Do you want me to explain myself?" Methos asked with a combination of bitterness and cynicism. He didn't like being questioned, but knew it was his own fault. He appreciated her giving him the benefit of the doubt, but dreaded proving her wrong. There were no excuses for the things he had done.

"I want to understand," Arwen stated simply.

"There's not a lot to understand. I did some very evil things and I enjoyed it. Then it stopped being fun," Methos said.

"There has to be more to it than that," Arwen insisted.

"There isn't. My brothers and I would ride into a village, kill everyone who resisted or just got in our way, took what was useful, burned the rest, and enslaved all the survivors. That was our idea of a good time. Riding down helpless people running in fear was good sport. I can't even cite greed as a reason. There wasn't much to steal in most of those villages. There were times when we went hungry because there wasn't any food to take. Not having anything worth looting was no reason for us to avoid attacking. Bloodlust was reason enough," Methos explained, growing frustrated by Arwen's continued belief in him. He was trying to tell her he was evil and she clearly wasn't buying it.

"But, why did you do it? What was the reason for such acts?" Arwen asked, distressed by the picture her favorite courtier had painted for her but unwilling to believe him to be so completely evil.

"There was no reason. I did it because it was fun. I liked terrorizing people. The thrill of bloodshed, the sense of power, it was intoxicating," Methos said, trying to disabuse Arwen of any illusions she might have.

"If that life was so 'fun,' why did you change?" Arwen asked shrewdly, positive that Methos's heart wasn't as black as he'd have her believe.

"Various reasons. You do anything for long enough and it's bound to get old. Riding into a town and randomly killing people was getting boring. Then there were the growing tensions among the four of us. Kronos and Caspian were never exactly sane, but as time went on they got progressively worse. Caspian was becoming an uncontrollable lunatic. Kronos, seemed sane enough on the surface, but he was a megalomaniac with growing paranoia. And, I was beginning to realize what a limited existence that truly was. There was so much I didn't know about the world, so much I wanted to learn, and terrorizing the countryside doesn't leave much time for study."

"And?" Arwen asked, one eyebrow raised.

"And what?" said Methos puzzled by Arwen's question.

"What event was it that made you change? The reasons you named would explain your leaving the company of your brothers, but they don't explain how you changed as a person. What specific events led you to the realization that what you'd done was wrong?" Arwen elaborated.

Just then the page returned with the note from Legolas. Methos thanked the page and opened the note, saying to Arwen, "That is an excellent observation my lady. Not many people would catch that detail." Then, continuing to stall for time, he quickly read through the note. It said:

__

Methos, 

I regret that we should part on less than friendly terms, but there are tasks which cannot be delayed any longer. I must depart. I was surprised and dismayed by what I learned yesterday, for I cannot understand it. However, I am not your judge and there is nothing for me to forgive. Whatever your past consists of it is your own and I shall not sever our friendship because of it. Farewell, my friend and should you still reside in Minas Tirith come spring I will see you then. Gimli also adds his farewells.

Sincerely,

Legolas

Arwen gave Methos a moment to read the note, but was not about to let her line of questioning go. "I am correct in my assumption? There was some specific event which changed the course of your life?" she prompted when she saw him reach the end of the note.

"Yes there was something," Methos confirmed, "a woman."

"Alexa?" Arwen asked.

"No, Alexa wouldn't be born for another 3,000 years or so and we only met a few years ago," Methos said. 

"A few years ago... you mean your wife was mortal?" Arwen said shocked by the realization. When she'd found out about Methos's immortality she'd assumed that his wife was the same and had simply lost a duel.

"Yes, she was. All of them were. I couldn't marry another Immortal."

"All of them? How many times have you been married?" Arwen asked, horrified at the prospect of watching not one, but multiple, mortal loves die.

"Sixty-nine at last count," Methos said with a shrug.

"But how can you stand it? How can you marry a woman you know will die while you go on without her?" she replied, completely bewildered by this staggering bit of information.

"It's not easy, but it's better than the alternative. 'It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.' When the choices are being happy for a time then suffering the pain of losing the one you love, or always being alone, unhappy, and only half alive; I'll chose momentary happiness every time. Love is too important and rare for any chance at it to be passed up, no matter how short the duration."

Arwen nodded in assent, that being a sentiment she shared. She had made a similiar decision when she chose to be mortal in order to be with Aragorn. "I suppose living with mortals and grieving their deaths is better than being alone..." Then, after a short pause she asked, "but why can't you marry another Immortal?" puzzled by Methos's previous comment.

"Well, there's the Game for one," he explained, "knowing that one day you may have to fight to the death tends to put a damper on the relationship. There's also the level of commitment involved. 'Til death do us part' takes on a whole other meaning when it comes to Immortals. Several thousand years is a long time to live with just one person."

"You believe immortality makes marriage impossible?" Arwen asked somewhat incredulously, knowing more than one happily married elvish couple.

"Not impossible, so much as extremely difficult, for humans at least," Methos clarified. "Humans are too changeable to make such a long term commitment work. Several centuries go by and you're looking at two people with little in common with the two who originally married each other. Occasionally, they change in ways that compliment one another, but mostly they drift apart. There's no way of knowing beforehand which it is going to be, making marriage a rather large gamble."

"You said yourself that love is too precious to be avoided, but now the risks of marriage between Immortals is too great?" Arwen asked archly, pointing out the flaws in Methos's reasoning.

"I never said I was consistent," Methos said with a grin, "But, you're right. With the right woman the future isn't too great a risk to take. With Alexa I would have taken that risk, if I could have," he continued grief momentarily reflected in his expression.

"I am sorry. I didn't intend to remind you of your loss," Arwen said with sympathy. "You never told me about the woman who changed your life?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Cassandra, we're just moving from one painful subject to another today," Methos said flippantly, trying to cover his true feelings.

"Another lost love?" Arwen asked, not really wanting to pick at Methos's old wounds, but feeling he needed to speak of them to someone. The queen was positive Methos was judging himself too harshly and needed to forgive himself for his past misdeeds.

"No... yes... I don't know, maybe." Methos said.

"If she wasn't your love, what was she to you?" Arwen prompted.

"If you want the short version, I owned her. She loved me and I... cared for her. Then Kronos reminded me of our oath to share and share alike, so I gave her to him rather than cause a fight between us," he replied conversationally, sure that this would be the final straw. His treatment of Cassandra would be what finally convinced Arwen of the truth about him.

"And, he killed her," Arwen stated, thinking she finally understood.

"No, actually, she killed him, temporarily. Then she escaped. I didn't see her again for another three thousand years or so, when she tried to kill me a couple years ago," Methos said casually, but underneath his calm facade he was squirming, anxious for the interrogation to end.

This revelation left Arwen completely nonplused. For the first time in centuries she found herself speechless. The queen had no idea what to make of what Methos had just told her. Everything else fit neatly into Arwen's personal theory regarding his past, that he had cracked under the pressures of being an Immortal and fell into some evil ways, but this didn't match up. It didn't disprove her theory, but it didn't quite fit. This particular incident showed him to be more self-centered and spineless than it showed him to be mentally unstable.

The two sat in silence while Arwen ruminated on what he had told her and Methos waited for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Arwen asked, "Cassandra clearly didn't succeed in taking your life, does that mean you killed her?"

"No, I didn't kill her. I couldn't and still live with myself. I told her to go ahead and kill me if she must. Mac convinced her not to because I wasn't the same man I was all those years ago."

"I see." Arwen said with a smile, feeling her assessment of Methos to be confirmed by this story. If the person most wronged by him could see her way to forgiveness, he must be deserving of it. The queen wouldn't normally pry so far into another person's life, but after her great misjudgment of Landon she wanted some reassurance that her ability to judge a man's character was still intact. Reassured, the queen asked, "Would you take the flowers to Aragorn's study for me? I need to fetch a vase. I think these roses will be just the thing to liven up that gloomy room."

Methos blinked a couple times, surprised by Arwen's calm acceptance of it all, and said, "Of course my lady, I would be delighted."

Arwen handed Methos the basket and went inside the palace. Methos watched the queen leave, an expression of bemusement on his face. Then, he slowly followed her, shaking his head slightly and saying under his breath, "Elves... they're just strange." 

****

CHAPTER 12

An airport in Switzerland, a few weeks before Christmas...

Duncan was waiting at the airport for Joe. He looked around at the huge crowds wandering why it hadn't occurred to him how many people decide to take family ski trips for the holidays. The airport was a madhouse, harassed travelers looking for misplaced luggage and trying to keep track of tired children. 'I should have come later,' the Highlander thought eyeing the enormous line at customs.

After a half hour or so, Joe cleared customs and the two went out to Mac's rental car. "How was the flight?" Mac asked.

"Horrendous. I was next to a woman with a baby."

"That screamed the entire time?"

"No, the baby was fine. It was the woman who was a problem. She changed his diapers right there next to me then would hand me the used one and ask if I would 'be a dear and give this to the stewardess next time she comes, since you're on the aisle,'" Joe said in a high pitched voice, imitating the woman from the flight. "Remind me not to travel during Christmas if I can help it."

Mac laughed, nodding in agreement, and said, "I'm afraid our accommodations at the inn aren't ideal either. They were almost completely booked. We'll have to share a room."

"Perfect. Just remember, annoy me and there's no telling what might end up in your chronicle," Joe warned.

"No singing in the shower at the crack of dawn?"

"Not unless you want future generations of Watchers reading a critique of your song choice and singing ability."

"I think we should spare them that," Duncan conceded with a grin.

They rode along the winding road for a few moments in silence. "Have you found anything on Methos?" Joe asked on a more serious note.

"Not yet. I went up to the clearing where they fought and saw the stones he came for, but I didn't find anything," Mac replied with a shrug, sounding frustrated.

"Maybe there's something on his laptop that will help."

"The police took that."

"And the Watchers took it from the police and I persuaded them to ship it to me at the inn."

"They just agreed to send it to you? I'd think they'd be too concerned about what Adam Pierson, former Watcher, might have on it to let it out of Headquarters."

"They probably wouldn't have given it to me, if they knew it was Adam Pierson's."

"And you just forgot to tell them," Duncan said, feeling like they might actually get somewhere now. Methos kept all of his important files password protected, but Duncan had been given the password. In case Methos finally lost a fight, he didn't want the most recent of his diaries to be lost.

"I don't know if Adam Pierson and Mike Adams are one and the same. I never saw Mike Adams with my own eyes." Joe said innocently.

* * * * * *

Back in Middle-earth...

Aragorn and Methos were sparring in a corridor in one of the areas of the citadel which had fallen into disuse. It had been raining for the past three days and the king, ever practical, suggested that practice be moved inside where it was dry, for him and Methos at least. The guardsmen still had to contend with the weather for the country needed to be protected rain or shine, but rank does have its privileges.

The oldest Immortal didn't particularly enjoy weapon's practice, it was too much like work, but 'When in Rome, do as the Roman's do.' had been the ancient Immortal's motto for millennia. The Romans of Middle-earth were very serious about practicing their fighting skills. Methos and the king had regular twice weekly matches. On the practice field Aragorn and Methos were about evenly matched, after Methos got back into top fighting form. Inside the palace, Methos had an edge.

Methos was advancing on Aragorn, backing the king up a staircase. One step and another and another, step by step halfway up the staircase King Elessar was still managing to hold his own, but Methos was watching very carefully for his chance. Then it came, Aragorn stepped back a fraction of an inch too far and his heel brushed the edge of the next step up, throwing him off balance. Methos took advantage of his opponent's momentary distraction to twist his sword around Aragorn's and wrench Aragorn's sword from his grasp. Methos then moved in for the kill, metaphorically speaking. But, it wasn't to be so easy. Aragorn ducked Methos's swing, dropping to almost a reclining position against the steps, and kicked Methos over the side, giving himself time to recover his sword.

"You very nearly had me there," Aragorn observed as the two faced each other in the hallway. "Those stairs nearly did me in. I haven't had much occasion for fighting indoors."

"That's what I was counting on," Methos replied, as the two circled around looking for an opening. "Nice kick by the way," he added shrugging the shoulder he had landed on, "I didn't see that one coming." 

"Lucky for me," Aragorn said distractedly, planning his next attack. Methos almost never made the first move, preferring to see what his opponent was up to before committing to anything.

This time Methos did the unexpected. He attacked first. The battle went on for another few minutes, but the two men had been chasing each other up and down corridors for quite some time now and both were getting tired. Finally, Methos managed to shove Aragorn into a corner and trap his sword against a wall, winning the match.

The two men, breathing heavily and rubbing various sorer parts of their anatomy, hobbled over to the stairs and sat down for a moment's rest. "Where did you learn that parry you used when we were stumbling over the benches?" Methos asked, "I thought that maneuver could only be used with a saber."

"As did I. I didn't see any other choices so I decided to try it anyway," Aragorn said with a grimace. Rubbing his shoulder he continued, "I now know why it is only used with a saber. Almost dislocated it. By tomorrow the shoulder's going to be worse than the ribs."

"A wrenched shoulder is better than being a corpse," Methos observed.

Aragorn nodded in agreement with that sentiment, still manipulating his shoulder in order to assess the damage.

"Sorry about that. You're better with a sword than half the Immortals I know. I tend to forget that you're not one of us and fight like I would if I were sparring with MacLeod or another Immortal," Methos said, with an apologetic smile.

"There is nothing to apologize for. A few bruises and pulled muscles will heal. I have learned many things from you which I don't believe I would have learned had you held back," said Aragorn waving away the apology. 

"All right then, no going easy on you. But, why so concerned with learning this? You're already one of, if not the best swordsman in Middle-earth, you haven't any enemies to speak of, and you're the king," Methos asked curiously.

"Old habits are not easily left behind. I was not always king. For many years I was a Ranger with only my wits and my skill with a blade keeping death at bay. And... although there is no threat at present and my sincerest wish is for the peace to continue, I have no knowledge of what the future might bring."

"Hope for the best, but plan for the worst," Methos said, nodding in approval.

"Precisely," Aragorn agreed. Then changing the subject, "So, Immortals regularly injure one another just for practice?"

"Friendly matches are usually no holds barred short of broken bones. Bruises, no matter how bad, heal in seconds. Breaks don't take much longer, but they hurt a lot more. Killing someone temporarily is also a no-no, usually."

"Usually? There are times when it is acceptable to kill your friends for practice?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

"Sometimes it's necessary to run a student through a few times to make them take the lessons seriously."

Aragorn gave Methos an incredulous look and said slowly, "You find it necessary to kill your students a few times in order to teach them?"

"What? They get back up, good as new." Methos said defensively. Then, after a pause for reflection, he conceded, "I suppose it's not exactly necessary. There are other ways to bring the seriousness of the situation home to them, but that would take longer."

"And require effort on your part," Aragorn tacked on to Methos's statement.

"Okay, I admit it. I'm lazy. There are reasons I never take on a student unless I absolutely have to. I never claimed to be a good teacher."

"I pity any student who has you for a master," Aragorn said with a chuckle.

"I thought you said you'd learned a lot from me?" Methos reminded Aragorn of his previous comment, arching one eyebrow.

"I..." Aragorn started to reply but stopped when a page entered the corridor clearly looking for them. Aragorn rose from his place on the stairs and walked toward the page.

"Your Majesty," the boy said, bowing, "a visitor has arrived from Ithilien."

Knowing that elves rarely visited the dwellings of man without some pressing reason, Aragorn was put on alert. "Is there some trouble in Ithilien?"

"I don't believe so, Your Majesty." the page answered, a little uneasy about being questioned by the king. "Master Sandir came to see Sir Adam. He said he had heard many interesting things about him and wanted to see for himself." They had decided not to inform the entire court about Methos's past. Most of the nobles still knew him simply as 'Adam.'

"I see. Tell Master Sandir that Sir Adam will meet with him shortly," Aragorn said, relieved to know nothing untoward was afoot. "Sir Adam," Aragorn called, turning toward Methos, "An elf by the name of Sandir is here to see you. No doubt he can assist with your translation."

"Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten about him," Methos said as he walked over to where Aragorn was standing.

"Forgotten about him?" Aragorn asked, confused by Methos's statement.

"Your archivist sent him a letter asking for his help when I first arrived here," Methos explained.

Then, they went off to clean up a bit before greeting Sandir.

* * * * * *

Methos walked into the library, where Sandir was waiting for him. The elf wished to get right to the task which drew him to Minas Tirith and was already examining the copies Methos had made of the markings on the stones when Methos arrived. Methos stopped in the doorway for a moment to examine the new arrival. He was young in appearance, looking not more than thirty, if that, as were all the elves. But, his silver, not gray or white but a true silver, hair and that indefinable something which the truly ancient carry with them belied his young appearance.

Having heard Methos's arrival, Sandir looked up from the papers and turned to Methos. "You are Sir Adam?" he asked with a pleasant smile.

Methos nodded in assent. "Sandir, I presume. It was good of you to come," he greeted the elf. Taking in the elf's welcoming expression and the look of wisdom in his clear blue eyes Methos thought to himself, 'If there was ever a candidate for Methos: Ancient Wise-one, this is he. He could probably convince me he was Methos, if he put his mind to it.'

"After the things Prince Legolas told me of you and your... journey, my curiosity wouldn't allow me to stay away," Sandir replied jovially.

"Have you found any answers yet?" Methos asked curiously, looking over at the copies Sandir had been examining.

"Not yet, but perhaps with your assistance... I do not recognize these characters, but I'm told you do. If the words are Quenya I should be able to understand them, if you would be kind enough to read them out?"

"Of course. When would you like to begin?" Methos said, both excited at the possibility of finally making some progress at finding a way home and nervous because it may in fact turn out to be a dead end. The language might not be Quenya or, even worse, it might be and the stones might say that there is no way back.

"There are several hours yet before the evening meal. We could begin now," Sandir suggested, sensing Methos's anxiety and more than a little curious about what the writing said himself.

"Sounds good to me," Methos agreed.

Sandir took up pen and ink and prepared to take notes. Methos gathered up the copies and slowly read the first line. Sandir winced a bit at Methos's pronunciation saying, "Prince Legolas was correct. That is Quenya."

"That is a relief, but I take it my accent needs work," Methos said, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a self-deprecating grin, one of his concerns having been alleviated.

Sandir simply replied by repeating the line as it should have been said. 

"I see. It should sound a bit Scandinavian, but more musical. I'll see if I can't do better with the rest of it," Methos said. Then he read the next line. This time Sandir didn't wince, although the pronunciation was still far from perfect.

They spent the next couple hours working on the translation. Methos would read a line or two and Sandir would write down the translation into common tongue. For the most part it went very smoothly, Sandir having to ask for repetition and Methos having to try another pronunciation only a few times. As the sun began to set, they finished the translation and what the stones said was this:

__

The gate is locked and the path is hidden  
Death of the undying shall turn the key  
When the time is right and the sign is given  
To those undying a passage will be   
  
In light and darkness the worlds align  
The longest day from there to here  
The longest night from this to thine  
At these times the paths appear  
  
'By my blood bridge the worlds'  
And swiftly draw the blade  
Speak the words and spill the blood  
And travel the roads away  


"I'm not entirely satisfied with the translation," Sandir said meditatively. "I am fairly sure that this is the meaning, but in Quenya the rhyme has much elegance and beauty which my poor translation does not convey."

"It's not a masterpiece of literature by any means, but the instructions seem clear enough. I just have to go to the stones on the winter solstice, cut myself, and say 'by my blood bridge the worlds.' That's what I really wanted to know."

"That does appear to be the way, but I don't understand the first part. It seems to be saying that only immortal beings can pass and only the death of an immortal can unlock the 'gates' to start with. How can that be so? You, a man, passed from your world to this. And how can one who is immortal die? I suppose it could refer to the death of the body, as happens to sorely wounded elves, but Prince Legolas said there were no elves in your world. I think, perhaps, we should try translating the first part again."

"Yes... well... actually it does make sense. I know what it is referring to," Methos said a bit uncomfortably. The cat was already out of the bag, so to speak, with a good portion of his Middle-earth acquaintances. And, by this time he had accepted the fact that people knowing his secret would present no particular danger to him on this world. If that weren't the case, he would have pretended to be as confused as Sandir and done the translation again in order to protect himself. As it was, he was prepared to share the truth with the elf but he still wasn't exactly sanguine about it, especially considering that they'd only met hours ago.

"You do?" Sandir asked, eyebrows arching in surprise.

"It's something I generally try to keep as quiet as possible, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself..." Methos paused to get Sandir's assent.

"I will keep your confidences," Sandir agreed very seriously.

"Good. You see, I happen to be an Immortal," Methos said in an intentionally very offhand manner. Something about the appearance of wisdom always made Methos want to ruffle a man's feathers a bit. 

"And the one to die, he was another like you?" Sandir deduced, slightly surprised by Methos's revelation.

"Yes, that's pretty much the shape of it."

"Are all the men of your world immortal?" Sandir asked, fascinated by the possibility.

"No, there's only a few of us. Most men are pretty much like the ones here, mortal."

"Then, this does seem to be the correct translation."

"Yes, it does sound right. I suppose I'll know for certain in a few months when the winter solstice comes," Methos agreed.

"In the meantime, perhaps you could tell me a little more about your variety of immortality?" Sandir asked, hopefully.

"I don't see why not," Methos shrugged, "You were such an enormous help with the translation, it is the least I could do."

* * * * * *

Months passed and the winter solstice arrived. Aragorn and Arwen, along with a small troop of guards, rode with Methos, once again dressed in his earth clothes, to the stone circle. The guards stayed back behind the trees while Aragorn, Arwen, and Methos went into the clearing to say their farewells.

"I shall miss my favorite courtier," Arwen said with a slightly sad smile. "None of the others are half so creative in their flattery."

"It was simply the truth my lady," Methos said with a courtly bow.

Hoof beats sounded off in the distance, drawing near the clearing. Then Gimli and Legolas rode into the circle. "You didn't think we'd let you leave without saying goodbye?" Gimli called as they dismounted.

"It wouldn't be a proper leave taking without you Master Gimli, and you, Prince Legolas," Methos answered.

Legolas walked over to Methos and the two clasped hands in friendship. "I've come to wish you a safe journey and to give you a parting gift," the elf said, handing Methos an elven bow.

"It is... exquisite," Methos said examining the beautifully crafted weapon.

"You once said you had not practiced archery in several centuries. I thought this gift might motivate you to take it up once more," Legolas explained.

"That it shall," Methos agreed caressing the finely carved wood, "Thank you."

"I know you're too attached to that sword of yours to use even a much better made replacement," Gimli said, referring to a past conversation about the merits of dwarven made blades, "but, I thought these might come in useful." He pulled from his belt a pair of dwarven made daggers. They were simply crafted, with plain leather wrapped handles, clearly made for practical use, but the precision with which they were executed made them beautiful instruments.

"I'm sure they will," Methos thanked the dwarf and put the daggers away in one of his trench coat's deep pockets.

Then Methos came to Aragorn. The stood together in silence for a few moments. Then Aragorn spoke, "I shall miss my favorite sparring partner."

"I doubt you'll miss the assorted bumps and bruises," Methos returned.

"I don't suppose I will miss those... Methos, thank you. Thank you for my life." Aragorn said solemnly

"You're very welcome," Methos said with a dismissive shrug, brushing aside the king's gratitude.

"You will be careful once you've rejoined this 'game' of yours? I hope your head remains attached to your shoulders for a long time to come."

"I hope the same thing and I'm always careful," Methos said, refraining from rolling his eyes, but the tone still clearly present in his voice.

Aragorn grinned at Methos's childish reaction, like an adolescent when his mother tells him to be careful. "Farewell my friend, safe journey home," Aragorn said grasping Methos's arm in farewell.

"Yes, safe journey," Arwen agreed going up on tiptoe to kiss Methos on the cheek.

"Well, this is it, the moment of truth," Methos said walking to the center of the circle and taking out one of the knives Gimli had given him. He took one last look at the friends he had made while in Middle-earth. Then bracing himself slightly, he drew the blade across the palm of his hand and as the blood dripped into the stone bowl he recited the key line of Quenya Sandir had drilled him on.

The script inside the stone hollow began to glow and to spin, much as the other circle did, but this time the glow was softer. The light slowly spread up from the bowl and enveloped Methos growing brighter by the moment. Eventually, Methos had to close his eyes to the blinding light. He had no way of knowing how long he stood in the light with his eyes tightly shut, it could have been hours or mere moment, but at some point he lost consciousness.

Next thing he knew he awoke lying on a patch of frozen ground, snow dripping onto his head from an overhanging branch. Slowly he sat up, clutching his throbbing head and looked at his surroundings. The low stones and the trees were exactly as he remembered from a year and a half ago, only now it was all covered in snow. 

There was one other difference between this time and the year before. This time Methos wasn't alone. "Damn it. 'Undying' must have meant any immortal rather than just Immortals," he muttered to himself as he bent to examine the unconscious elf.

The End 


	4. sequel info

I just uploaded the first chapter of the sequel to the Buffy crossover section. You can find it here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=938463

I won't name any names, because that would give the story away, but thank you for the sequel suggestions. I had the general outline, but the gentle arm twisting for Methos to be included among other things made me rethink the plan a bit.

As always, thank you for all the lovely compliments. 


End file.
